


Band Club

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, Depression, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 21,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: A new school year was beginning for Nathan. Little did he realize that, this year, his life was about to change.High school AU, set sometime in the late 90's/early 2000's.





	1. Arcadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "New year, new me."

When people hear about Florida, usually they think of the beaches. DisneyWorld. The wild Miami heat, sunglasses and floppy hats. However, Nathaniel Phineas Explosion, known only by his peers as Nathan, found the whole damn state nothing short of irritating. He hated Arcadia, he hated Florida, he hated America, he hated the world. It was all obnoxious. He wanted to burn it into a crispy, crispy... crisp. And he would if it was legal!

One could tell from Nathan's appearance that he was not a happy boy. Constantly creased brows and long, black hair that covered a lot of his face from the sides. All he ever listened to was the blackest of black metal, and he had a deep voice and a bad attitude. Thus it was obvious that he also had no friends. It didn't help that he had trouble with nearly every subject, and those who weren't threatened by him were convinced he was an idiot. Not that he gave a shit. All he cared about was dark, brutal, and most of all, solitary. Alone. By himself. With nothing but his metal albums, Cannibal Corpse, Goatwhore and Carcass filling his brain with their crude screeches.

"Yer here again?"

Pickles was an adult who got held back twice in senior year. Nathan didn't know him very well, and frankly, he didn't need to. Everybody knew the guy, and a good number of them loved him, though Nathan wasn't sure how many just wanted his drugs. And damn, did he have a lot. Molly, weed, crack, meth, heroin, painkillers, LSD, shrooms, and all of the alcohol necessary to wash them down. He was in the grade above Nathan, so they didn't share any classes, so like hell Nathan could've known Pickles was a class-skipper who always hung out on the roof. It was impossible for Nathan to go there and clear his head if this drunken fuck was always there.

"...Yeah."

"Don't'cha have class?"

"Don't you?" Nathan grunted, sitting down as far away from Pickles as possible. "Leave me alone."

"Heard dere's a new student in yer class."

"Don't care."

"Are you one a' those people who never gets excited 'bout anythin'?"

"Ugh. Don't try and psych... psycho... analyze me."

"Alright, alright." Pickles shrugged, kicking one of his legs over the other. "Want some X-T-C? Always puts me in a good mood."

"Who even calls it that...? No, I'm fine." 

"Mm-kay then."

Nathan grunted, leaning against a wall and lighting up a cigarette from his pocket. They got a nice handful of new students every year. None of them were ever interesting or worth his time, so usually he just forgot about them. The only exception, of course, being Richard 'Dick' Knubbler, who immediately began selling pot a week after last school year began. Either none of the faculty knew, or none of them cared. Nathan didn't really care. 

"Yer grades're gonna tank." 

"You're still talking...?" Nathan groaned, spewing out a mouthful of smoke. "I don't care. What, haven't _you_ been held back twice?"

"Well, yeh. But I gaht a plan."

"...Wuh?"

"'s gonna be so cool. I'm gonna start a band." Nathan quirked a brow.

"You know that never goes anywhere."

"Yeh, maybe fer you. But me, I gaht hopes 'n dreams 'n shit. An' I can't work all cooped up inside doin' worksheets and all dat crap." Another puff of smoke met the air. Marijuana, Nathan supposed. "Damn, that hit went straight to my head. But yeah, I know where I'm goin' in life."

"...Right." For some reason Nathan's heart pounded as he heard such raw passion, though it was slowly bogged down by the effects of the blunt in Pickles' hand. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground, stepping on it to put it out. "I'm gonna go."

"Alright, stay cool."

Nathan didn't reply. What a fucking loser.

-

He got one hell of a talking-to from his science teacher for spending so much time "in the bathroom". His grades were already failing and he shouldn't have spent so much time lollygagging in the hall and taking a piss. Alright. Whatever. He'd missed the entirety of science class, so he just jotted down his homework and left. His next period? Art.

Nathan never understood why art was a class while music was an extracurricular. The art teacher was chill, probably drunk or something. On the first day Nathan essentially got to do whatever in the hell he wanted, as did everyone else. So he sat down at one of the wide tables, just grabbing some paper and a 6B pencil. (As dark as they came, from his knowledge.) He wasn't much of an artist, but he could probably produce... something. To his left was some blonde kid staring at a blank canvas, and to his right was some gremlin fiddling with an enormous lump of pottery clay.

"...De fucks, dis pencil amn'ts workin's."

"You don't usche a canvasch to schketch, you usche it to paint, schtupid." 

"Ey, don't calls me stupids."

"With that fuckin acschent? You're hella schtupid."

"Feh." The blonde one grunted, returning to scraping a pencil against the canvas. "...Hey. Yous." He motioned towards Nathan, who was buried within sheet upon sheet of graphite-smudged paper that he referred to as "art".

"Huh?" Nathan had no interest in speaking to either of these people.

"You's leaves for alls of science. De fucks you t'inks you ams?"

"Uh... I was just tired, I guess..."

"Tires? If I could gets outta class jus' for bein's tires, I'ds never even shows up. You ams just too lazies, ja?"

"Uuuugh, leave me alone! Asshole..."

"Ha-ha. Veries funnies. However, it ams you what's ams de assholes."

Nathan slammed his fist on the table. Shit, gotta keep that anger in check, he didn't want to get suspended again. The blonde kid rolled his eyes. "My names am Skwisgaar. And your names?"

"Nathan."

"How mundanes--" Within a second, Nathan reached across the table and smacked Skwisgaar in the face, before tipping over his chair and walking away. Skwisgaar stared at him in complete silence. The one other person at the table was snickering to himself.

"Heh. Fuckin' baschket-casche."

This was going to be a long year.


	2. Transfer Student

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New roommate? No thanks.

"A foreigns ecks-change? Stayin's here? We just moves in."

"Ja, it sounded funs." 

"It sounds funs?! Mooooms..." Skwisgaar groaned, throwing himself onto his couch. Fuck's sake, two months after moving in, and they're already taking in foreign exchange students? Gross. He hated staying with people. "When am he gon's to shows up."

"Laters."

"He amn'ts sleepin's in my rooms."

"Don't be dat ways, you's gon's to be good friends."

"Dis ams a lots to takes in, I just gets smacks in de fuckin's face todays."

"Oh? Who does it?"

"Natens."

"Natens what?"

"...I don'ts knows!" 

"Well dens, I can't does nuthin's abouts it, Skwisgaar." His mother sighed. "Anyways, I's goin's out tonights. I's gon's to meets up wit' someones, maybe takes 'im outs, takes 'im homes laters, takes 'im to beds... You knows de drill."

"I shore do."

He groaned. Already on the first day, his math teacher had fucking pummeled him with seemingly endless homework. He was too tired to argue against his mom's promiscuity for the day, and just decided to let her to as she pleased. His fingers reached behind his sofa, grabbing onto something. Yes. Yes! There it was! His Gibson! He pulled it out, staring at its shiny steel strings. Immediately a wild grin crept onto his face. He plucked the strings. Suddenly his hands began violently fretting and playing, nothing in particular, of course. Just aimless playing. It helped him calm down, which was nice, since the world seemed determined to run him ragged today.

Damn, was he sounding good today.

He wished he had an amp to plug into.

"Oh damns. Dese ams goods..."

He fretted like the wind for what must've been an hour. Just aimless notes. It sounded good. He almost wished he was writing it down. However, he was interrupted by an abrupt opening of the front door, and an obnoxious "Hello!"

Skwisgaar looked up from the couch cushions.

"...Who dis?"

"Oh, it ams Tokis! I's just movin's in heres for de years on foreigns exchange!"

"...Toki." Bluh. What a stupid name. 

"Ja, Toki!" His smile was disgusting. It made Skwisgaar's flesh fucking crawl."Toki Wartooth, I just comes in here from Norways." Ugh, Norway? That was like, the worst Scandinavian country. At least he wasn't Dutch. "I hopes we cans become good friends. Ams dat a Gibsons? I does a little playin's myselfs." Another guitarist, too. But definitely nowhere near as good. "What ams you's name?"

"...Oh, me? Ah, Skwisgaar." 

"Hello, Skwisgaar! Hyggelig å møte deg, nice to meets you! I hears you ams from Scandinavias toos?"

"Swedens."

"Dat ams cools! We lives so close togedders! We's gonna be de best of friends!"

No thanks.


	3. Can't Help Fallin' In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Murderface has a boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the darker aspects of this story start coming into play via Willy and Magnus. If that stuff bugs you, then i'd suggest escaping.

School was dumb and gay. William had no interest in that stuff. Who needed dumb fuckin' math? And the art teacher refused to put his masterpiece in the kiln! (She said it looked 'too phallic'. Fuck that bitch, it was beautiful!) Regardless, the first day was over and he was ready to light his homework on fire and watch the algebra problems melt away from his mind. X can't equal shit when it's just a crispy bit on a dead flame.

But first he had a detour to make.

William didn't consider himself gay, no way, not at all. But he did have a boyfriend. He wasn't really sure why, but he didn't mind sticking it to his grandparents once in awhile. Not only that, but his man was a college dropout. A guitarist, a real fuckin' boss. Always had cigarettes, drugs and booze on him. Oh, Hallelujah Molly and Mary Jane, if there was one thing he remembered from previous school years it was that the Beat poets knew what they were doing. Getting coked up and guzzling whiskey put William in the best frame of mind. It was really the only thing that'd make him happy, actually, along with constant, empty validation and the possible gift of knee-knocking, brain-melting buttsex.

His boyfriend always hung around behind his school, near the fences with some of his friends. They were all fucking weirdos, and William loved 'em to bits. Eric and Edgar, one of which apparently died recently in a freak accident. He sometimes saw Edgar around school, usually programming iDose files and looking suicidal while buried in his wheelchair. M was a stone-cold badass, who could put even William's favorite wrestlers into a cruel headlock. He had no name, apparently, and his brother didn't seem to go by much of anything either. M was M. Others would come around, usually to score drugs or liquor. Then there was Magnus. William's boyfriend. A 21-year-old grungy motherfucker with a harsh voice and long hair. William had fallen hard for him and his ragtag group of freaks. And thank god that Magnus was just as smitten for him as he was for Magnus. He was so fucking in love and it wasn't gay, it wasn't, his personality was just so fucking magnetic, he wanted to stay with the guy forever, maybe.

Sure enough, they were there. He ran over, excited and grinning and skidding to a stop.

"Magnusch!"

"Willy! Babe! I'm so glad to see you."

"Hiya. Hey M. M'sch brother." He stared at another girl for a moment, trying to remember her name. "...Trindle?"

"Yep, that's me! You're really hopeless at remembering names sometimes." Trindle rolled her eyes, holding out a 20. "One gram, Maggie."

"I told you not to call me that." Magnus grunted, pulling out a small gram-bag of weed and throwing it into Trindle's waiting hands, grabbing the money and watching her proudly skip away in excitement as though she'd just won the fucking lottery. "Bitch only comes around here for pot."

"What a fuckin' schleazchy cunt!" Murderface sat down next to Magnus on the ground, holding onto his arms. "How'sch yer day been? Good?" Magnus smiled, running his fingers through William's fluffy, curly hair.

"A bit of a drag, not really eventful. Much better now that you're here, kid."

"Aw jeesch..." William's face went red. "Yer embarraschin' me, ya dumbfuck."

"Shush. You wan't anything? A drink? Some of that, uh, MDMA? Health teachers hate it."

"I'd fuckin' love to, but schcool juscht schtarted and I'm tryin' to get good gradesch thisch year."

"Good grades?" Magnus punched William in the shoulder. "Please, everyone knows you can't even read."

"Hey, fuck off! I can read!"

"Yeah, you can read words with big letters that are spaced really far apart." Magnus sighed. "It's alright, I'm here to do it for you. You don't need to do anything." William grinned wide, nuzzling his chubby cheek into Magnus' old jacket, that smelled of old cigarettes and Jack Daniels. He loved it. He loved the way Magnus smelled, it smelled like home, his face was rosy and proud and he was in love with an older man. Nobody else could say that!

"...A kissch isch fine."

Magnus pulled him in for a soft and gentle peck, before licking his lips and going back in with a longer, deeper kiss. His mouth tasted like ashes. He had a piercing. Metallic, kind of tangy. His hair was ravaged by a set of fingers, calloused from years of guitar-playing. Just before the heat in William's belly went further down, they separated. "Oh shit, I never get usched to how good you are at thisch shit."

"We can do a little more if you've got the time."

"I can't, gramma isch exschpectin' me to go home."

"Aw, that frigid old hag? Come on, babe. You can stay for a little bit, can't you?" 

William swallowed. He didn't wanna get in trouble, it'd hurt. But he wanted to stay here. And Magnus wanted him to stay. He could get lonely or something... William weighed his options. Get beaten, or make Magnus sad?... He knew the answer to that.

"Alright, I'll schtick around."

-

Pickles hated seeing Stella Murderface on the street. Usually she'd just get up his ass about how gay he looked, or something. She was one fat pile of old bitch in a wheelchair, and Pickles just wanted to go the fuck to bed and maybe drink a little bit. But there she was. And rather than spewing angry bullshit at him, or saying he'd look so much better as a girl, she just yelled over to him from down the sidewalk.

"...Yeh?"

"Dillon. Tell me." Dear god, why did she have to use his first name? "Have you seen William?" Pickles blinked, trying to remember who William WAS. He was the kid with the tooth gap, right? And the really mean disposition?

"Uh, no, I ain't."

"Goddamnit." She swore, backing up in the chair. "Alright, thank you."

"Did you try callin' him?"

"You think I have the money for anything besides a fucking landline? I'm done with you! Fairy!"

Pickles grunted. He hoped the kid was alright.


	4. Infectiously Optimistic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki is another junior in Nathan's class. Already his boundless joy makes Nathan feel ill.

"Hello, my name ams Toki Wartooths. I's so happy to meets you all, ands I woulds die for each and every ones of you!"

That was not an Arcadia greeting, for sure. Usually an Arcadia greeting was along the lines of "piss off", "leave me alone" or "dude I'm so high". Nathan was immediately put off by the new visitor, a foreign exchange student from Lillehammer in Norway. Nathan had been told Norway was fucking brutal, but he supposed some people slipped through the cracks and fell into a disgusting waste pool that was referred to by psychologists as...

"Optimism".

"Alright, Toki. Why don't you go sit next to Nathan?" Oh god. Ms. Bitchcunt was really pulling his fucking chain, putting this rosy-cheeked fuck directly to his right. Of course he ended up sitting next to a window like an anime protagonist or something, and ended up boxed in with Mr. Fucking Sunshine to the side, local psycho bitch Trindle behind him, and weird homosexual/pot addict/audio editor Dick Knubbler in front of him. The only reprieve was a half-open window that let in still-summery air, from which he could see resident computer whiz Edgar Jomfru cutting class with his various medical excuses to pursue the art of sound editing and sit like a glob of human depression in his wheelchair. Nothing was good about this.

"Hello, Natens!"

God, his expression made Nathan want to fucking puke.

"...Hi."

"It ams goods to meet yous!"

"Yeah, whatever."

Immediately, Ms. Shit-For-Brains began cracking into the textbook. Almost within seconds Nathan lost track of where he was. Mito... what? Mitochondri... fuck, who gave a shit. He wouldn't need this when he became the greatest metal musician of all time, so fuck it! He grunted, pushing slightly away from his desk to jot down some cool lyric ideas in his notebook, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. His first assumption was that it came from Trindle, but then he heard a "Psst, Natens!" to accompany it. Dear god.

"...Yeah?"

"I can't reads dese words, we didn'ts go overs dems cell parts in my English class."

"...Uh..."

"And what's what ams a... an eel... elee..."

"Electron microscope." The two were interrupted by the student sitting to Toki's right. Charles Ofdensen. Nathan almost instantly missed the days where he could copy off that kid's tests. He was basically a genius. "Nathan, are you even paying attention." He spoke without so much as looking up from his notes.

"None of your fucking business..."

"You could use the grade boost. I know your, uh... track record."

"God, just shut up."

"Of course, it's your first-semester grades that'll go down the toilet, not mi--"

"Listen, if you keep talking, I'm gonna shove my fist so far down your throat that you'll be shitting fingernails for a week."

"I mean, I'd love to see you try."

"Waits, guys, please don't fi--" Before Toki could even finish that thought, Nathan's fist was flying through the air, and hit an open palm. Charles had blocked it with relative ease. And then, slowly, he began to twist his elbow around, until it seriously began hurting, and Nathan backed up. All the while, Charles never looked up from his notebook.

"Ow, fuck." Nathan gripped his arm, soon realizing that the whole class was silent and staring at the three desks.

"Please continue, miss."

"Uhm..." Ms. Go-Fuck-Yourself was at a loss for words. "I believe first period is over." Nathan thought he had gotten off scot-free until he heard the dreaded words. "Mr. Explosion, Mr. Ofdensen, can I see you two for a moment?"

-

The second class ended, Dick Knubbler was greeted by the janitor.

"Uh, sorry. It might be a second before this hall clears out, we had an issue in here."

"What kind of issue are we talking?"

"Uh... some kid puked here, I think."

"...Who was it." Dick squinted, as much as he could with his semi-functioning glass eyes, created by tech geniuses Edgar and Eric Jomfru. 

"I think it was Will--"

"Oh for fuck's sake." He groaned, pushing past the janitor and shuffling down the hall to the nurse's office. Goddamnit, school had just started, it was too early to end up on this kind of self-destructive behavior. At least Dick would wait a week or two before breaking out the heroin and beer, goddamnit!

Sure enough, in the office, his old pal Willy Murderface was hunched over in a chair, his face buried halfway into a plastic trashcan. "Willy. Willy, can you talk to me in the hall, _please."_ Before William could even respond, Dick dragged him into a standing position and pulled him out into the hallway. "Hey, dumbass, what the fuck're you doing? I seriously don't believe you're sick on the second day of school, what kind of fucking binge did you get on last night?... And your face is fucking bruised!"

"What? Jeesch, you're not my mom!"

"Willy. Babe. What were you doing." William knotted his fingers together. "Were you out with that fucker Magnus all night?"

"Don't call him a fucker, okay?! I love him! Asschhole!"

"How many fucking drinks did he pour into you? You look like shit!"

"A couple."

"More than a couple."

"Jeesch... Fuckin' exschusche me for havin' fun."

"And your eye. What happened to your eye, why is it bruised."

"Got home too late, gramma kicked my assch."

"Willy..." Dick sighed. "You feelin' alright?"

"Kinda schick."

"Alright, alright... just get back to the nurse's office. Sit down, have some chill time... I'm gonna stay here with you so you don't do anything stupid."

"Diiiick! You're not my mom!"

"Shush. You're hungover and your brain is fucking mush, I don't trust you to do anything."

"Ugh... fine."


	5. Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki needs directions home.

"Hey, Natens!"

Oh god, this guy.

All fucking day. Toki shared every single stupid class with Nathan. Their schedule was essentially identical. Throughout the whole day, Toki was trying to be his friend. Nathan considered asphyxia, but he wasn't sure if it would be easy to kill himself, or this over-optimistic chucklefuck following him around. He thought he'd at least have some freedom after the last bell of the day went off, but apparently Toki just had negativity sensors in his brain to follow Nathan around.

"...What."

"I needs you's help. You knows where Skwisgaar ams?"

"Skwisgaar?... Who was that again?"

"He ams a seniors students. Blonde hairs. Blue eyes. Good lips."

"Uhhh..." Nathan's voice went flat for a good five seconds. "...Oh! The guy in my art class? I fucking hate him."

"Ja, he ams my room-mates. His mom's what's keepin's me livin's here, but I don't knows how to gets backs by myselfs yet." 

"...Okay?"

"You should helps me finds 'im!"

"I really don't feel like it."

"Come oooons, Natens!" He grabbed Nathan's wrist, and despite being shorter than him, Toki somehow managed to drag him by the arm into the school building. "You knows what's his last class?"

"I told you, I don't like him. I know nothing about him."

"But he ams--"

The floor above them seemed to shake a little with the sound of a guitar riff. Nathan shot up in shock. Toki's face split into an even bigger smile, as though his head would simply crack in two like a raw egg. "He ams ups dere!"

"How do you know that's him."

"Skwisgaar plays de guitar! A Gibson!"

"That could literally be anyone."

"I knows it am hims, I sees him play all de times!"

"Didn't you just move in yesterday? How could you--"

"Let's go!" And now he was being dragged again, growling at Toki that this was seriously hurting his fucking wrist. And they had to go up a flight. Christ, Nathan was so fucking tired, he didn't wanna, goddamnit, piss and hell and damnation he just wanted to go the fuck to BED, maybe listen to some METAL or something. FUCK. "Hey, who dat ams in fronts de door?" The guitar sounds were getting closer. Two figures stood in front of the door. One was Pickles, clearly. The other... that kid from his art class? Pickles looked up on faintly hearing Toki's overexcited footsteps.

"Hey, Nate'n! Who dragged you outta bed dis time?"

"Fuck off, Pickles."

"Pickle?" Toki cocked his head. "...Him name ams Pickle?"

"Yup. I'm Pickles. Who're you?"

"Toki Wartooth from Norways! Nice to mee-"

"Shut the FUCK up, I'm tryin' to lischten!" The other kid was peering through the doorway, fingers tight around the frame. "Oh fuck, he'sch good." 

"...Who the hell is that, Pickles."

"Dood. Dat's William." Nathan stared. "William Murderface." Still nothing. "He tied yer shoelaces togedder on Field Day last year and you swore you'd turn his ass into mincemeat." Nathan cocked a brow. "Come on. He plays bass. He's friends with Dick."

"Oh, the one who's friends with Di--"

"I schaid shut up!" There was a tremulous shudder in William's whole body, as though he were about to implode. Whoever was playing was pretty fucking good, Nathan had to admit. Though, William looked like he was about to fucking piss himself, and then probably just blow up. "...Fuck..."

"...Williams? Dat's a good name! Who ams in deres, Williams?"

"Shh."

"If you likes hims playin's so much, why don't you's goes in deres 'n tells him?"

"WHAT?!" His shout suddenly ended the amazing flow of guitar chords. He smacked a hand over his mouth. "Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh--"

"Hey, Skwisgaars!"

"Nononono! Shshshsh--"

"Toki? What's ams you doin's heres?" That was definitely Skwisgaar. "...Why's you hangin's out wit' alls dese losers?"

"Dey ams my friends. Dis ams Pickle, and Natens, and Williams." Toki ruffled a hand through William's hair, and an expression suddenly fell upon the boy's face that was indistinguishable by Nathan's socially stupid eyes. "I's sorries I interrupts you. It ams amazings guitarings! But Toki don't knows how to gets homes from heres."

"Guh. Toki..." Skwisgaar pinched his nosebridge. "Olrights den, we walks home." The two Scandinavians left, thank god. Nathan had about as much as he could take of Toki's terminal happiness syndrome, he felt like he was suffocating. 

"I guess I gahtta be goin' too. Hey Murderface."

"Why the fuck're you callin' me by my lascht name, ya weirdo?"

"'cuz it sounds cool." Pickles shrugged. "Anyway, want me to walk you home?"

"Nah, buddy. I got a date."

And with that, the younger boy ran off.

-

"So how's school life treatin' ya so far?"

"Pretty fucking shitty, as always."

"Dat's Arcadia." Pickles rose a half-empty bottle of beer to the sun, the light gleaming through its brown glass as they walked towards home. Thank god they lived on the same street. Nathan didn't wanna have to ditch him early. That'd just be... awkward. "So, the new kid's taken a liking to ya, huh?"

"Dear god, don't fucking remind me. He's like a really happy tumor."

"Well you sure as hell ain't gainin' nothin' bein' depressed all th' time."

"God. Shut up."

"Want a drink?"

Nathan stared down the neck of the bottle. Despite his notions of brutality and rebellion, he'd... never really had alcohol before. Outside of church communion, of course. He didn't know why. Drinking was fucking brutal, why didn't he do it? Aw, fuck... Now he had to.

"Sure."

Immediately he gagged on it, because it tasted like liquid bread. "Oh, god, that's awful. Oh god. Ew."

"Y'get used to it after awhile."

"That's like getting used to being tortured, what the fuck."

"Alright, alright, I ain't forcin' you to have anymore yanno."

"I know, but Christ almighty."

"Ya big weenie." Then there was a good minute of silence. "I think I want Skwisgaar to join my band."

"Dude, seriously? You're still on about that?"

"Okay, fuck off. I'm startin' a band. Yer just jealous because y'didn't think of it first."

Something was pooling at the back of Nathan's tongue. Not a real substance, but a sensation, a feeling. A sudden will to do something. This was a fucking stupid idea and he knew it, but for some reason, playing music with Pickles sounded... kind of fun. His face dropped down to a slight reddish tint and he stopped walking. "Dood, you okay? Did I pierce a nerve? I'm sahrry."

"...Can I join."

Oh god. Why did he say that. Fuck. Shit. Goddamnit.

"Sure."

Fuck, why was his heart pounding? Why did he feel like his skull was on fire?

"Okay." It came out as a wheeze. Pickles scruffed the back of Nathan's hair, laughing under his breath.

"Good to have ya."

"Thank you."

"Now let's git yer ass home."

The rest of the walk was silent. Nathan's brain was too loud already.


	6. The Oligarchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan attempts to start a band club. Pickles has a few warnings.

The door to the roof area flung open by third period, Nathan's toes wriggling in his shoes. He was so fucking excited, he'd been up all night and still had energy to burn. Pickles looked shocked to see him, maybe because he didn't come in the morning, but if he skipped another science class Ms. Fuckwit would probably murder him. He wasn't smiling, as per usual, but he was vibrating like a goddamn toothbrush.

"Pickles, I got it."

"...What?"

"We'll open a band club."

"Dat ain't gonna work, Nate'n."

"...Huh? Why not?" Nathan looked like his hopes had been dashed and destroyed. Pickles sighed.

"You know." Pickles made a few motions with his hands. "The student council? The 'irreplacable-until-graduation' student council?" Nathan blinked. Another sigh from Pickles, who recognized his poor memory. "The reigning bitches of Arcadia?"

"...Oh!" Nathan slumped over further. "...President Abigail."

"You probably ain't even gonna get dat far, VP Becca will probably rip ya to shreds." Pickles leaned back against a wall. "Actually the secretary might even take you out before y'get dere."

"They can't turn down my idea."

"Trust me, Nate'n. If there's anything those bitches hate, it's ideas." There was a flick of his lighter as Pickles lit up a cigarette. "'s why dey disbanded most of student council, made it only three people. You should know dis, dood, you live here. You've been living here since like, forever."

"Technically I lived in Port St. Lucie until I was 9, but, yeah." Nathan shrugged. "I just don't remember stuff good, I guess."

"Look, you can pitch it to the bitches if ya want, but I'm tellin' ya. It won't get anywhere."

"It's gonna work, I have a strategy."

"...What is it."

"I'm gonna charm the _fuck_ out of Abby."

"Oh god no." Pickles stood up. "Nate'n, dat's a terrible idea, you remember when Dick tried to hook up wit' her for a chem club."

"She punched him in the face."

"Yeah, she punched 'im in th' face!"

"Okay, but he's, you know... Dick." Nathan waved his hand. "It'll work, just you watch."

-

"What? No."

Abigail was shooting him down right out of the gate, as to be expected. "We already have a music club, Nathan. You attend the music club, you play, I'm not putting in a new one."

"But they only do classical, it's fucking lame."

"I'm not freeing up another day for another music club. That's final." Abigail jotted down something on her notepad. "Lavona, which class is Nathan supposed to be in right now?" Nathan froze. For fuck's sake, they were gonna call one of his teachers? That was pure evil.

"English. With Mr. Hart."

"Alright, just use the school phone li--"

"Wait!" Nathan slammed his hands on Abigail's desk. "I swear, this is gonna be worth it, you just gotta give me a shot here. I swear I can pitch this to you, it'll be like, Ren & Stimpy, nobody thought it was a good idea, but--"

"Nathan. The answer is no."

"...What if I take you on a date."

"What? No."

"Come on, you... probably occasionally consider it."

"I really don't."

"I'll do literally anything."

"...Anything?"

"Yeah." He always, always knew that was a bad thing to agree to, but dammit, the only way to get a band together like this would be sign-ups and a workspace, and starting a club would get him both of them. So it was like, two birds, one stone? Besides, Abigail wasn't insane or anything, she couldn't be that bad.

"Buy me shoes." Rebecca interrupted. "Really expensive sh--"

"No, Becca, please." The VP immediately deflated as Abigail vetoed her choice. "...After school I need you to tell Magnus Hammersmith to stop using our outdoor exercise area as a smoking lounge. He's not allowed on school grounds, and it's bothering the after-school sports groups. If you can get him to leave, I'll give you your club. Favor for a favor."

"...Who is Magnus Hammersmith?" Most people believed that if you lived in Arcadia, you most likely knew everyone else there. However, that wasn't the case for Nathan, the antisocial person that he'd always been. Rebecca shook her head, mumbling, 'God, he's so fucking stupid.' Lavona nodded in agreement.

"He hangs out by the outdoor gym area after school. A few students have put in complaints that he's disturbing the peace."

"...Alright, that works for me, I guess."

Couldn't be too hard.


	7. A Punch in the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan confronts his job. William confronts Nathan.

Dear god, this was an awful idea.

The guy was tall. Pretty muscular. Nathan was strong, sure, but... shit, he'd been getting a little chubby recently, and that wasn't gonna do him any favors. Not only that, but he had some weird friend who was fucking jacked. His only assistance came in the form of Pickles, who had a good punch, but was also fucking tiny. He was completely and totally boned if this Magnus guy decided to throw down, which he very well might.

"Uh... e'scuse me."

"Who are you."

"I'm uh, I'm lookin for Magnus Hammersmith... sir."

"That'd be me." He grunted. "What do you want? Weed? Coke? Molly? Heroin? Meth? I got it all."

"Uh, a-actually I just had an... an order from..." He swallowed. Pickles sighed, interrupting him.

"Y'can't sit 'ere no more."

"And why is that?"

"Dis's prahperty of th' Arcadia school district 'n shit. Can't have no weirdos hangin' out here, 'specially when the sports clubs are runnin'."

"And who sent you?"

"Student government, who's askin'?"

"I'm just curious. Oh, William! Hello!" Pushing between Nathan and Pickles was a teeny weeny intrusion in the form of William Murderface. "We were just being harassed by these bastards when you came along, baby."

"Harassched? I'd oughtta give 'em a... Nathan? Fuck're you doing here?"

"Uh..." Nathan scratched his elbow. What the fuck was going on. "I kind of need Magnus to stop... being... in the gym area..."

"Hey! Leave my fuckin' boyfriend alone, whasch he doin' to you?!"

"Well he-- Your... boyfriend? He's like, 40."

"He'sch 22, you fat fuck! I'll fucking kill you! Get outta here!"

"Magnus, can you please--"

"I have no control over him." Magnus shrugged, leaning back and lighting a cigarette with a wicked grin on his face. "Willy does what he wants. Right, boy?" Immediately the younger boy's face lit up as he turned around to respond.

"I sure do!" Then he turned back, looking as pissed as before. "Fuckin' schquare up! I'm takin' your assch down! I'll kill ya!"

"...I mean, jeez, I, uh..." Nathan rubbed his arm. "I don't really wanna beat up a kid."

"I ain't a kid! Put up yer dukesch! Lesch go--"

Suddenly there was a hand flying through the air. That hand did not belong to Nathan, or Pickles, for that matter. Nathan looked up to find it belonged to... Dick? When did he get here? William fell back onto his ass, clutching his bleeding nose. "Fuck! That wasch an interferensche! Dick! You asschhole!"

"Well shit, I was aiming for your sugar daddy back there!"

"He ain't my sugar daddy, he'sch my boyfriend! Schtupid dumbassch!"

"Fucking shit, Willy, when're you gonna--" Within seconds, William was on top of Dick, and they were rolling across the basketball court like a couple of wrestlers trying have gay sex with each other or something. It was like fucking cinema. Nathan didn't have words to describe it, but soon enough Dick was planted firmly on William's chest giving him the old one-two for what felt like hours, until the poor, defeated boy cried out "UNCLE!", and Dick's hands finally stopped, shaking and painted red.

Magnus' only response was to scoff.

"Impressive." He got up. "Fine, we'll set up shop somewhere else. Come on." Like clockwork, his whole group got up and began moving away.

"What about Willy?"

"Not my problem."

They were gone within moments. William had passed out on the ground, and Dick had flipped him over just to make sure he wouldn't suffocate, swearing under his breath. He stood, shakily, his hands drip-drip-dripping with the claret-shaded goop from William's nose. His face was expressionless, thanks to those weird eyes.

"...I can't carry him home."

"Uh, I can... do it." Nathan rose his hand.

"Promise me that I can trust you."

"Trust me? Dude, you just beat him up."

"Nathan." The pupils of his eyes contracted into pinpoint lights. "Promise me. I can trust you."

"...Uh... sure."

"Okay. Okay. I-I'm going home. Have a fabulous day."

And with that, Dick Knubbler staggered away.


	8. Bringing In His Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki's given a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any people who actually live in Arcadia, I apologize for any possible inaccuracies on my house placing. I'm just working off of Google Maps and intuition here.
> 
> Also, warning for slurs. This is the Murderface family, after all.

"You amn'ts comin's home straight aways?"

"Ja, I gots a job froms one of dems 10th-grades teachers, Skwisgaar." Toki pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. "I gots to brings all dese assignments to dis address, because someone's dones misses schools."

"Well, I gets dat, but why you's?"

"She says it can helps me finds my ways 'rounds de town, and nobodies else in hims class would does it."

"...Olrights, don't gets lost. You knows how to gets back?"

"I figures if I forget, he just gives me directions."

And that was how Toki ended up on his way to deliver some important messages. The address wasn't really far from Skwisgaar's house. Past Gibson Street and onto the Bridle Path, a little ways from the Oak Ridge Cemetery. The house was on the street where Smith Avenue crossed through the path and turned into Sunset Avenue, a few little houses collected. One of which was particularly small, most likely on the cheaper side for this neighborhood.

House number 9. That was the one.

Toki knocked on the door, which was slowly opened. He was greeted by the smell of liquor and piss, almost feeling like he was choking. The person who answered was a very very VERY overweight elderly woman in a motorized chair. Her expression read that she had just woken up and had no interest in being awake.

"Fuck do you want."

"Uh..." Toki swallowed. "I's Tokis, and--"

"I don't wanna buy it!" She attempted to shut the door, but Toki wedged his body into the doorframe.

"Waits, waits, waits! I comes to brings assignments to you's son!"

...The woman paused, sliding the door open and scoffing. Her lips were so wrinkled, Toki wasn't sure if they even qualified anymore. She might've been half-turtle or something. "...What's ams so funnies 'bouts dat?"

"He ain't my son." She rolled her eyes. "William ain't got no parents."

"...Where's dey go?"

"What, I gotta tell you his life story now? They're _dead._ "

"...O-oh..." Well that was sad. "Where ams he?"

"In his room. He hid from the fuckin' bus today because he said he was 'too tired'."

"...Which way what's ams his room?"

"Jesus. It's upstairs, what, are you fucking blind?" She sighed. "I'm sorry, raising that bastard has me run a little thin. I don't mean to take it out on strangers." She shouted up the stairs. "William! Get your ass down here!" The only response was a loud groan, before the sounds of footsteps grew louder.

Oh hey, Toki knew him. He was watching Skwisgaar play. Though this time around he had a surgical mask over his face, kind of like they did in Japan when people had colds. What Toki could see of his face was bruised to hell. His... caretaker? Aunt? Grandmother? was unsympathetic. "This kid, uh, has some stuff for you I think. And if you'd get off your ass and out of your room, I'm sure it'd make his life easier!"

"Aw, gramma, shuddup." He grunted, arms crossed and gaze averted. "Fuck do you want." Like grandmother, like grandson.

"Uh, I brings you you's homeworks."

"...Could you uh, come upschtairsch with me real quick?"

"Uh... shores."

-

"Okay." He took a breath. "Okay. What the fuck isch a linear equation."

"...You needs math helps?"

"Shshsh, don't schay it too loud. Gramma thinksch gettin' exschtra help isch, you know... for retardsch and shit. But I don't get it."

"Uh, well, it ams an eck-quation betweens two varmiables what's equals a straight lines."

"That doeschn't make any schensche, it'sch a bunch of fucking numbersch, not a line!"

"You gots to puts it on a graphs, Williams."

"A graph?... The fuck?"

"You don't knows how to draws de graphs?"

"Uhhhhh..." He swallowed. "Nope... I don't think scho..." His face twisted beneath the surgical mask. "Fuck, I am a retard, I don't know anything!"

"Wah- nonononono, you's just nots gots de maths brains." Toki tapped his own head. "Tokis was uh... how's you says... homes-schools? Maths just comes easies to hims somestimes."

"No. I'm an idiot. Goddamnit..."

"Come on." He patted William's back. Immediately William froze, before sinking back into his hand. "You's gots to haves more conck-fidence! Anyones can does it ifs dey gots de proper funsdations and assistance!" William was silent, pressing into Toki's side. "...You ams tired?"

"Nnh."

"You cants sleeps whats wit' dat masks on."

"Yesch I can."

"Come ons." Toki groped at the elastic band around the surgical mask, William weakly swatting at his hands as he tugged it away. Oh, that poor boy's face. His lip was split, his nose mangled, and his cheeks covered in bruises and cuts. "...You wash dese cuts out?" Toki tried not to say anything too negative. After all, it was no uglier than the extensive frostbite on his toes. "Dey could gets infections, you gots to be carefuls."

"I'm fine!"

"You gots to takes cares a' youselfs."

"I barely even know you! Chrischt!"

"It don't matters if we knows each-udders, I cares about everyones." He sighed. "How much you sleeps last nights?"

"Not... a lot..."

"Williams! You needs a bath and a naps."

"Gramma haschn't paid the water bill yet." William lowered his head. "We're waitin' for Auntie Sheryl to wire usch schome money."

"Dat ams terribles." Toki grabbed William's hands. "We's goin's to my house."

"Wait, we can't--"

"Just for a little whiles!" William had no time to agree before he was unceremoniously dragged out of his front door by Toki. He needed a bath, after all, and some serious homework help.


	9. Standards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar vs. Murderface vs. Toki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for self harm towards the end

"Dis what's ams my house." Toki motioned towards the door. "I'm stayin's here wit' my buddy Skwisgaar."

"...T-the schenior? Who playsch the guitar?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh my god." William's fingers knitted together. "He-he'sch _here?"_

"Ja."

"I-I can't let 'im schee me like thisch! I look like I got run over!"

"It don't matters dat much, Williams. He ams just a normal guys, he ain'ts gonna says nothin's."

"No, he isch, I look like a fucking messch. Goddamnit. Fuck."

"I swears, it ams gonna be fines." Toki tugged on William's shirt, pulling the protesting younger boy into his house, and knocking on the door. "Skwisgaar! I's hooomes! I brings a friends wit' mes! I's gonna helps 'im wit' his math homeworks!" The door swung open. Immediately William covered his face with one arm. Skwisgaar answered.

"...Toki. Am dat de kids who watches me plays de guitars?"

"I t'ink--"

"Nonononono! I ain't!" William shook his head. "I don't watch you none..."

"...Rights." Skwisgaar grunted. "Whatevers den. Comes inside if you wants."

Toki gave William's arm a gentle tug, and he slowly, nervously approached the doorway, walking inside. Fuck, this house was massive. Pretty damn nice, too. Not only was Skwisgaar's mom almost as pretty as he was, but she must've had shitloads in her wallet! He shuffled inside, sitting himself down on a couch. A lovely white one with some lace trim. "Takes you's shoes off before you puts you's feets on de couch."

"O-oh, uh, right."

"Williams, comes into de bathrooms." Toki motioned towards him. "We gotta wash you's face."

"What ams wrongs wit' his face?" Skwisgaar stepped in front of him, having not really gotten a look at his mangled cheeks and bruised eyes. "Holy fucks, what de hells happens to you?"

"Nuffin'."

"You looks like you gets hit by de trucks."

"I'm schorry."

"...Guh. I's guess it amn'ts nones a' my business."

William whined, crawling off of the couch as soon as he got on it and zooming behind Toki's back. He must've been even more fucking hideous than usual. "Toki, you's just supposes to brings de kids his homesworks, why you takes him to my house."

"He don't gots no waters runnin's at homes."

"Who cares?"

"I does."

"You's ridi--"

They were interrupted by the sound of the front door flying open. William had already run away.

-

The numbers on the paper didn't make sense to him. What was x? What was y? Those weren't numbers, those were fucking letters, you can't add letters. He ran his fingers through his frizzy mass of hair, grumbling over the piece of paper. It was fucking nonsense to him. Goddamnit. 

His hideous face botched a tutoring session, and now he'd have to go another day without handing his shit in. Fuck.

And he didn't get to see Magnus today, either. He was gonna be so pissed.

William made sure nobody was looking. He made sure the door was locked and the blinds were shut. He made sure his room was as dark as possible, and then buried his face into his pillows and absolutely bawled. Painful, body-wracking, chest-heaving sobs that made it hard to breathe. Fucking goddamnit, he hated himself. He couldn't do anything right. He shouldn't have been born, then everyone would be happy and he wouldn't go around looking like a jack-o-lantern that got shoved halfway into a meat grinder. And his mom and his dad would be alive, and his family would be together and everything would be great.

His eyes locked with a container of razorblades on his desk. They were nestled into the mess of stuff. All of his DVDs, sketches, and snake skins that he stole from his old pet. A plastic container with a dispenser. He popped out one blade, examining its silvery surface. He could see his own reflection on its flat side.

(You really cocked this one up, huh.)

His head was all messed up. God, Skwisgaar must've hated him. Which was for the best, William was a taken man and he wasn't gay. (But he was so pretty. It was scary.) His fingers trembled, drawing the blade to his arm. He always had a mantra regarding doing this - horizontal lines for slight pain, vertical lines for longterm results. (AKA, dying.) He wasn't really sure what he wanted, but he supposed diagonal might get him in a good middle range.

The red droplets landed on his hardwood floor with a gentle plip, plip, plip. He was so overwhelmed with all of this...

...negativity...

It was indescribable, it was so fucking agonizing, he felt like he was going into cardiac arrest. And he was hungry and depressed and he deserved it. He couldn't take it anymore, and tapped a few buttons on his landline phone.

It rang.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Click.

"Hey, who is this?"

"Magnusch." He tried to hide the fact that he had been sobbing. (And still was.)

"William. Where the fuck have you been?"

"I-I juscht..." He sighed. "I wasch buschy."

"Dumbass." He heard spitting over the phone. "You need to learn to come around on the right schedule, the real world doesn't give you fucking sick days."

"I'm schorry."

"I'm just saying. If you don't come around that much, I could probably get with one of my customers and--"

"I get it! I schwear I'll be there tomorrow."

"Tonight."

"Magnusch!"

"You said you'd be around today, you owe me."

"But I got--"

"William." He could practically imagine Magnus' expression on the other line. "You're coming over tonight, and we're going to have a talk."

"...Alright."

He hung up. God, this day couldn't get any worse.


	10. First Club Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it begins.

There were posters plastering the walls of Arcadia's local high school, both inside and out. On the windows, in the bathrooms of both girls and boys varieties, even in the teacher's lounge. Nathan did not want any ground uncovered. He was determined to get people talking. And talk they did. "Hey, did you see all those posters?" "Of course I did, they're everywhere." "Whoever's running that club must be really insane, huh?" Yes. Yes! It was beginning!

All through classtime, people were wondering, asking questions. "Who's running band club?" It was like Nathan had turned himself into a cryptid. He fucking loved it. The main sign-up sheet was in a hall that everyone had to go through, and Nathan made sure to put shit-tons of glitter on it. It'd be nice and noticeable that way. Of course he got offhanded comments in the hall, including William Murderface saying it "looked totally fucking gay". He would've smacked that kid upside the head if he didn't want to protect his identity. During one of the later periods he met up with Pickles on the roof, who immediately gave him a really weird look.

"You seriously pasted posters all over school."

"Well, yeah."

"You didn't even put yer name ahn 'em!"

"Yeah, so I can be like a fucking... mystery man. Like Zoro."

"Nate'n." Pickles cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't need ta put up dat many."

"Yes I did! God, do you not understand how advertising works? I need people to be talking about our club! So it gains more traction and attention and stuff! God! Dumbass!"

"Nate'n, dis was so unnecessary. I bet people are jus' gonna show up to find out what kind'a crazy person would put up dis many posters!"

"Well if they're not musically inclined, we kill them!"

"You can't kill people, Nate'n! Jeez, ya could'a just put up like, a couple... but in front'a the urinals? Seriously?"

"Everyone needs to see them!"

"Dat seems a bit excessive!"

"God, Pickles. You have no idea how advertising works."

"When was the last fuckin' time you saw th' same advertisement for the same thing on the street over a hundred times?"

"Well that's why nobody buys their stuff, now, isn't it?!"

"It seems kind of unnecessary!"

"Shudduuuup!"

"...Well, at least that means a lotta people're gonna show up."

"Yeah. Exactly."

-

Abigail allowed them to rent out the music room after school. However Nathan soon realized it was not made for any kind of rock music. No amps, no plugs, nothing, it was a load of bullshit. Who the fuck even played acoustic anymore? Violins were fucking gay. They didn't even have a stupid drumset.

"...Hey, Pickles, what can you like, do, anyway?"

"Everythin'."

"Everything?"

"Guitar, bass, singin', playin' drums, keyboard, electric violin, oboe, didgeridoo, ophicleide, harp, viola--"

"Alright, alright, fucking Christ. Mr. Multitalented."

"...When should people start showin' up?"

"Uh, soon."

"Who's comin'?"

"I don't know."

"Dood. Ya put up sign-up sheets, why didn't'cha read 'em?"

"Shit, I dunno, I just took 'em down and these bastards have awful handwriting!"

"Gimme dat." Pickles snatched the sheet out of Nathan's hand. He then cracked a smug smile. "Hey, yer best pal Toki is showin' up."

"Oh, dear god."

"Den we gaht Skwisgaar... obviously. Well... W... Holy fuck, what does this say. 'Willelilum Murdderfacse'... Oh, oh. Dat's Willy. Love dat kid. And den we gaht, uh..." Pickles balked for a moment. "...Fuckin' Ofdensen?"

"Ofdensen." It was Nathan's turn to gape in pure shock. "Charles F. Ofdensen?"

"Yeh. He even wrote 'is name in script." Pickles scoffed. "Fuckin' douche."

"Anyone else?"

"Edgar." He paused. "Oh yeah, that kid can do audio editing."

"Cool."

"Aaaand dat's about it."

"Fuckin' awesome."

"So now we just--"

The door to the clubroom opened, or rather, it was nearly kicked off of its hinges. William made his entrance, clutching a (very old, very dirty) bass guitar and skipping in place, giggling to himself. "...Hi Murderface. How's shit?"

"Magnusch schaid I could come, scho I'm here now! Oh my god, finally I get to play with the big boysch, schtart my own band, become world famousch! I can schee it now!" He put a hand on Pickles' shoulder, the other one swaying across the horizon. "My name in lightsch: 'Willy Murderfasche: World'sch greatescht basschischt!'"

"Woah, alright. Cool yer jets dere." Pickles held William by the back of his collar, sitting him nearby in another plastic chair. "Don't wanna break any a' the equipment." 

"Toki what's ams here!" Toki was halfway through the door, waving. William froze up. "Oh, hi Williams. You feelin's alrights?"

"...Mmh." He tugged at the long sleeve of his faux-leather jacket. Toki patted his head, allowing William to instinctively nuzzle back into it. Nathan believed there was a term for the condition: "Touch starvation" or "skin hunger". It sounded totally lame, so Nathan was certain he didn't have any issues like that. "Schorry I left yeschterday. I had to meet schomeone and it wasch juscht... bad. It wasch bad. All bad."

"Don't worries abouts it."

Another silent entrance, this time in the form of Skwisgaar. William nearly fell over. It was fucking obvious that kid was gayer than a naked guy painted in rainbow colors, but Nathan didn't bother to pry at it. He didn't care enough. "Oh, hi, Skwisgaars!"

"...Feh. Looks at dese fuckin's losers." Skwisgaar bent down at eye-level to Nathan. "You wants to starts a band, hah? Wants to gets all fay-mose and stuffs?" Nathan grunted in reply, his arms crossed and eyes downcast. "It amn'ts gon's to happen wit' dese fucks."

"Ey, watch it, pal." Pickles pressed his cheek into his own hand, resting his head. "Y'don't like it, den don't show up."

"If you t'inks you ams good enoughs, dat ams fines. It ams a cut-t'roat world out deres."

"Yeh, I know, I'm older den you."

"You knows not'ings."

"Skwisgaar!" Toki tugged on his shirt. "Don't bes so con-forn.... con... conforn-tanials."

"Confrontational." Pickles corrected.

"Dat ones."

"Tokis..." Skwisgaar put a hand on Toki's shoulder. "Looks, I ams a very serious talents in dis univorse. I ams a god."

"You amn'ts a god, Skwisgaar."

"You's evens hears me play?"

"A little bit..."

"We needs a real set-ups." Skwisgaar crossed his arms. "Anyones gots any sources for de supplies and stuffs?"

"Y'mean like, uh, a drumset and amps and shit...? Uh--"

"That can be arranged." Charles. Goddamnit. Fucking Charles. "I know for a fact this school lacks any kind of band club... things. So, uh, I may have gone out during lunch and bought a full setup for my basement."

"Excuse me, what."

"Well, uh... that's what happens when my mother leaves me with her credit card." He shrugged. "Amplifiers aren't too much out of pocket considering my family. The drums were a little bit much and the microphone set-up could've been cheaper, but my parents will make up for the missing numbers very quickly."

"What the hell? How much money do you have?"

"A lot." Charles stuck his head out of the door. "Edgar, we're taking this to my place."

"Wait, I never said--"

"You're not going to get anything done like this."

"Dood." Pickles tapped Nathan's shoulder. "This kid is loaded, we could get so much shit done over dere."

"A porfects place for dese inferiors to prove dem's wort'." Skwisgaar stood. "I does it."

"Alright then. I suppose it's settled. Anyone have any complaints?"

William rose his hand. "Yes. You."

"What the fuck."

"Alright, we're going off, then. Follow close, don't get lost."

And so it began. The first meeting of band club started not with a bang, but with Charles Ofdensen.


	11. The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of the Ofdensen house.

"Woah." William had already latched onto the vast collection of vases. "Look at thesche fuckin' thingsch!"

"Please don't break anything."

"Isch that a dog?!" The young boy ran to a corner, harassing Charles' sleeping Saint Bernard. "Hiya puppy!"

"That's, uh, that's King Arthur."

"Who'sch a good booooy? Who'sch-- he licked me!" 

"Don't get too attached, he isn't yours. And get up, we're going to my basement."

"Can we bring 'im with usch?!"

"No, he'll destroy the equipment."

William frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing back up. "...Now. I'd like you all to follow me to my elevator."

"Hey." Nathan rose his hand. "Uh, is it just me or has Edgar been weirdly quiet this whole time."

"Uh, my guess is he's either making electronic music or simply watching."

"Both." Edgar's voice was pretty deep, and he had kind of an accent. Nathan had never really spoken to him. "Waiting for the entertainment." God, he still talked like a Disney movie villain though. Almost everyone thought he was an absolute dweeb. Though, kind of a threatening dweeb. Nobody told him so because he also had access to downloadable audio-drugs of the future, but he was smart, so he probably knew already. Nathan was hardly shocked that him and Charles were friends.

"Well that's settled then. Follow me."

The elevator was a big, golden motherfucker with one of those cage doors on the inside. Something Nathan had only really seen in hotels and movies about rich people. But here it was, and he was standing inside of it, and it was pretty big inside, too. Big enough to fit Edgar's wheelchair, and still squeeze in everyone else. "It's a bit slow. My apologies."

"Toki, move over."

"I can'ts moves none."

"You're right nexscht to my fuckin' assch! Homo! Grossch!"

"Dere amn'ts nowheres else to stand!"

"Thisch isch fuckin' gay! I feel attacked!"

"Murderface." Pickles deadpanned. "Yer datin' a guy."

"That don't make me gay. If he wasch a girl, I'd probably be way more into it."

"Right. Whatever."

"I'm scheriousch! Schkwischgaar, move over! Your hand isch near my dick!"

"I's rather kills myselfs den touch you's."

"Hey! I am fuckin' good lookin', let me tell you--"

"We're here." Charles looked at the group as the door slowly opened. Flicking on the light to his basement, it was a bit musty, as all basements were. Though still enormous to go with his equally enormous mansion. It had a whole lot of stuff, including a decent musical setup. "...I used to play a little myself. But, uh, most of this I bought recently. I heard talk of a band club and I thought it'd be interesting to get involved."

"Get involved? What, are you gonna play something?"

"Not exactly, Nathan. But, for now, I suppose you and your new co-workers should duke it out, hm?"

"You... you want 'em to fight?"

"Kind of."

-

"A musical battle." Pickles grinned. "Sounds fuckin' badass."

"Indeed. If Skwisgaar is under the impression that you aren't skilled enough to be worth his time, then the best way to do it is to prove that you are. Am I correct?"

"I mean, I guess dat makes sense."

"Edgar and I both have very acute hearing. So we can both tell when you, uh... drop out, so to speak." Charles pointed at Nathan. "Nathan Explosion is exempt from this challenge due to the fact that this is his club."

"What if I don't wants to works wit' hims." Skwisgaar grumbled.

"You wouldn't have this opportunity if it weren't for him. Don't be that way."

"Guh. Fines." Skwisgaar grunted, unzipping his guitar case. And what a pretty, dark machine it was, too. "You's t'ree better keeps up. I amn'ts holdin's back just 'cause you ams beckginners."

"I ain't a beginner, dood, I've been goin' at this for years."

"Dis ams gon's to be fun! Can't waits to plays like a big guy."

"You fuckersch are gonna wish you'd given me more reschpect."

"Redheads." Skwisgaar turned to Pickles. "Gives me a beat."

"Uh... alright." Nice and slow. The Swede cocked a brow.

"Who you takes me for? Faster." Pickles grunted, picking up the tempo. "More." And again. The double kick-drums were going to town. "Am dis how you fucks a woman? More. Faster. Harder. Come ons. Horries up." Though Pickles looked like he was about to jump over the drumset and wring Skwisgaar's neck, his sticks and mallets began flying at a wild speed. Nathan couldn't even see his hands. "Porfects." Skwisgaar's fingers met his deep black pick, then grinding down the strings. A chord that made Nathan's head explode.

"Holy fuck."

And he was off, like a racehorse in the wind, fingers scuttling across the strings and frets at an almost invisible speed. Toki tentatively plugged in his own guitar, equally matching Skwisgaar's speed in a slightly different tone and key. The only one remaining was William, whose fingers were shaking as he gingerly flicked the bass amp on, below the chaos one could hear his consistent, deep flicks at the steel strings. A bit rusty and nervous, but pretty good, considering Nathan was almost certain that kid couldn't afford any kind of teacher or anything more that a bass handbook and, perhaps, the early internet.

It was like watching a battle between demigods or something.

How Charles and Edgar managed to remain silent and composed was out of Nathan's realm of expertise. He was staring wide-eyed and gape-mouthed at the high-speed action before him. Like trucks and planes and helicopters, smashing into one another, hard-headed and unrelenting. This was art. Holy fucking shit.

William was the first to give out, which didn't surprise anyone. His hands must've been hurting and he finally flubbed a few strings, shoving his fingers in his mouth. Charles blankly motioned towards him, and he sat down next to Nathan, whining and holding his hand. Nathan looked at him with tears rolling down his face. On one hand, Nathan felt bad, but at the same time, his confidence was just setting him up for failure.

"I thought I could do it."

He could see William's mouth move, but couldn't hear his voice.

The playing continued, Toki's teeth gritted, his eyes boring into Skwisgaar's forehead like he was trying to burn lasers through his skull. Pickles was heavily focused. Man, did he look good when he was focusing. And his tongue rolled across his lips while he was focusing. Goddamnit, what was going through his head? His sweaty little dome? It was all moist and shiny and red, and suddenly Pickles was looking at Nathan and his chest tightened like he was having another asthma attack. He was so fucking cool, and--

One of his sticks flew upward and hit the ceiling, falling out of Pickles' reach. Which meant he was out. Pickles sat on Nathan's other side, giving him a look.

"Dood, were you starin' at me?"

"No!" Fuck. He was totally lying, and Pickles could tell. Luckily he didn't pry any further.

To keep the rhythm, luckily, Edgar had skillfully engineered a basic metal drumbeat to go along with the two dueling competitors. They were getting so close their foreheads nearly touched, brows knitted in concentration. Toki's teeth were exposed and gritted like a tiger about to rip into its prey. Was there lighting and thunder, or was Nathan imagining it? How long would it take before one of them cracked?

...Just a few minutes, but it felt like hours.

Toki's hands slipped, his pick fell to the floor and the noise stopped...

"...We all gaht fucked." Pickles shook his head.

"Fuck you, Schkwischgaar." 

"I does good though? I t'inks I does good." The three of them were heading towards Charles' elevator, just about ready to leave.

"Waits." Skwisgaar held up his hand. "...You knows, I never plays dat goods by my-selfs." He sighed, crossing his arms and casting his gaze aside. "...You makes me plays betters. Guh, I hates admittin's it, but I wants to works wit' you's." His voice dropped. "Especially Tokis."

"Reallies?!"

"You better not be fuckin' with me." William crossed his arms. "Or I'll kick your assch."

"You's playin's wit' fire, Williams."

"...Schorry."

"Well then." Charles pressed his fingertips together. "As your manager, I say we're about ready to begin being a band."

"Yeah, we're-- wait." Nathan blinked. "...You're our what?"


	12. Just Barely Managing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting off of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter to have any kind of actual sex so uh, warning for a high school-age boy screwing a 20something college dropout trash man disgusting gross fuckface goddamnit fuckking Magnus Hammersmith do you believe this shit? I can only remember who played the guy who led the Revengencers, who the fuck led the Revengencers?
> 
> MARK ZUCKERBERG

So Charles Ofdensen was their manager. William had no complaints. He knew his numbers well enough, and William had no reason to dislike him. Plus, it meant he could show up at the bastard's prissy mansion and pet his dog. He was such a good puppy, a little fluffy pal. He couldn't stay past 5. He owed Magnus a visit, after all. Apparently their new digs were pretty swell, too. A cruddy old club called the Depths of Humanity.

Nice.

So he bid his new douchey bandmates good-bye and left with his hands in his pockets, when he felt a prod on his shoulder. 

"Hey, Moiderface."

"Dear god. You're at it, callin' me that too?" Fuckin' Toki. He didn't know how to feel about seeing the guy after disappearing from his house in terror, as lame as it was. "...What do you even want?"

"Just wonderin's what's you ams up to. I's sorries if I makes you unconfortables at my homes."

"Yeah, whatever."

"So, what's you's doins?"

"I'm shceeing my fucking boyfriend." William rolled his eyes. "Makesch ya wish ya had one, huh? I'm a real man."

"Dat ams pretty cools. What ams his name?"

"Magnusch Hammerschmith." Pause. "Motherfucker."

"Is 'mudderfucker' parts of 'is names?"

"No, no it ischn't. Dumbassch..." He rolled his eyes. "They're at thisch really cool metal club with a lot of alcohol and bitchesch, and I get all of that shit for free." He smirked, standing tall with a proud look on his face. "You could only dream of schayin' that, right?"

"...Cans I comes?"

"What? No. I hate you."

"No you doesn't."

"Yesch I do."

"You doesn't."

"I do."

"I doesn't hates you."

"That'sch gay."

"It ams gay to not hates someones?"

"It isch when you do it. Fuck you." 

"Olrights, Moiderface. Haves fun."

"I'll be havin' way more fun than you are!" A night of booze, sex and drugs was all William needed to cure his sorrows. Toki could fucking suck it. Suck it long, suck it hard. And deep. Yep. Not gay at all, honest.

"Has fun, Moiderface."

_Whatever._

-

The Depths had a big ol' neon sign on the front. Such a bold aesthetic. William was almost glad Nathan and Pickles booted them from that crappy basketball court. His toes curled inside of his shoes and his heart thumped in his chest. This was a whole new area of the universe for him. The doors were big and heavy and his fingers could barely even push them open before his breath started to give out. He was really out of shape, huh.

It was a pretty empty club, but had enough activity to prove that people were getting high off of the good stuff and knew just where to find it. Combing through the crowds of coked-up teens and stoned college dropouts, he found Magnus, sipping from a bottle of whiskey, surrounded by two other women.

Him and Magnus had a sort of weird agreement. Magnus was a promiscuous man, and William gave him the semi-spoken allowance to screw other people. William didn't have this same agreement on his own end, which was fine. He didn't have interest in anyone else, or at least, he didn't think he did. Magnus needed him emotionally. Fucking others on the side would just make him feel like their relationship was unstable. Or perhaps it was just unbalanced. Unfair or not, William didn't care. It was just sex, not a fucking marriage pact with these sluts.

But their figures...

Were damn perfect.

"Magnusch! Hey!"

Magnus looked up from his two anonymous whores. A ginger and an east-Asian girl, which was a rare sight. Arcadia was almost entirely full of white people. (The fact that Abigail Remeltendrinc was their school's president was twice as baffling as her presence.)

"Hey there, Willy. Come over here." He patted beside him, allowing William to squeeze between Magnus and the ginger bitch. "That's Marcella and this is Suki. Shake hands with them if you want, I swear they're not diseased." William grinned, holding out his hand. Suki had long nails and soft hands. Human perfection. He grinned sheepishly, tugging his dry fingers away.

"You're cute."

God, she was so stupid.

"Don't get to flirty with him or he might run away."

"Aaaalriiiiight."

"So, how was your day?"

"Well, uh." William twiddled his fingers together. "I went to a band club. Got in schome kind'a muschic fight, petted a dog."

"Music fight." Magnus grinned. "Did you win, babe?"

"Uh... well, no, I kinda got out firscht, I got hand crampsch."

"It's fine. Don't expect too much of yourself." He nuzzled back against Magnus' shoulder. That was right. He was just, well, a natural failure. Always had been, always would be. Magnus was nice enough to take him in, and he wouldn't ever turn away from that. "You look so nervous. What's up with you? Loosen up those muscles. You want a massage?" His fingers pulled William over, before meeting his bony shoulders, pressing deep into the knots in his skin.

"...'m fine, jeesch."

"I think I know what you need." 

"MDMA, health teachers hate it."

"I was thinkin' more like a full-body massage."

His eyes fluttered. Oh yeah, sex. That guy was still ready to go. Two women couldn't get him down. His fingers clamped together. He didn't want to get punched by Dick -- or worse. But god, Magnus would probably hate his guts if he didn't, and... maybe it'd feel good. It usually did. 

"I'm nervousch." He wiped his brow. "I ain't done it in a room with thisch many people."

"If you're that shy about it, you ain't drunk enough."

"You make a fair point, good schir."

"How about a couple shots on me?"

"...Wait, before we do." He tugged at his sleeve. "Uh... Do you think I'm like... Ugly?"

"Ugly." Magnus shrugged his shoulders. "Ugly seems pretty subjective. I don't think so. But, you know, I'm not everyone." William blinked. "See? Subjective." Subjective. William didn't think it was very subjective at all, really, if the majority of people thought he was hideous. It just meant Magnus had weird tastes.

"...How many people think I am ugly?"

"Ehh... I dunno. You're a pretty niche preference." 

"Magnusch!"

"I'm just being honest with you. I think you're lovely, though." He held William's chin in a way that always, always made his heart pound. "A beautiful little... garbage can."

"...Ehe..." He tugged at Magnus' hand, shoving one of his long, bony fingers between his lips. That was one way to tease the bastard. He pulled the digit out of his mouth, giving him a lazy grin. "Scho how about thosche shots."

"You read my mind."

People wished they could say they were dating Magnus. He loved William unconditionally, beyond sex or appearances, and made him feel... free. And when he found Magnus inside of him with the heat of tequila in his belly, he reached nirvana. Heart thumping, body tightening. Oh yes, oh yes. And then he had hands around his throat, and he was afraid. His teeth gritted. "Good boy." His vision was bleary and his chest was hurting.

"Magnusch, I can't breathe."

"I like it that way."

Was this how it felt to break your neck? He was burning from the inside, and when he could finally breathe again, he realized he'd hit orgasm without even noticing. Amazing. "...Oh, you look so messed up. I love you like that." 

"...Mmhh..."

"Get your rest now, ugly."

...Yeah.


	13. Marks Across Your Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what on earth are those?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a throwaway because im having issues figuring out where to go

Those weren't coming off anytime soon. William patted his neck, sizing up the enormous bruises around it. Magnus liked to grab hard, and he liked to bite, and push, and suck all the blood to the top of his skin. They looked like hickeys. William prayed that grandma would assume they came from a woman. His whole body was shaking as he stared at the patchy skin just above his trachea, where his airways were cut off and his breath was taken away.

The lack of air sent some sort of fucked-up chemicals to his brain that made his whole body feel fuzzy and good. He was glad that he got to experience something like that, and yet... it was so completely fucked up. Being choked by your boyfriend? Most people would call the cops about that.

...But Magnus wouldn't do anything truly wrong to him.

Of course he liked it.

Because Magnus loved him. He was the only person who would.

So he threw a scarf over them and nobody would be the wiser. 

"Ja, dat ams a nice scarfs, Moidaface." Toki had decided to sit with him during lunch, which William hated. Not only that but he brought stupid Skwisgaar there. Stupid, perfect, pretty Skwisgaar with his wonderful hair and luscious lips. "But, amn'ts it a little warms for wearins one?"

"Fuck off, don't queschtion my deschischionsch."

"Olrights den."

William shrugged his shoulders, allowing the thick wool scarf to snuggle closer to his neck. It was making him kind of sweaty, but he'd prefer mild discomfort over anyone asking about his marks. It was fine if Magnus did this, a bit inconvenient at worst. Kind of hot, depending on the situation.

"...You haves any foods?"

The fuck kind of question was that? Did people actually eat lunch during lunch?

"No."

"You's gon's to be tires if you don't eats."

"Who givesch a shit?"

"I does."

"Tokis." Skwisgaar paused his random chord progression on his guitar to look at Toki. "Just drops it. He ams too stubborns."

"No, he ams a growin's boys what's who's needs hims nutriments."

"You're not my fuckin' mom."

"Well I still cares about you." Toki reached into his bag. "Here, I brings a pickle-herring sandwich."

"That thing schmellsch like a schweaty asschhole." William grimaced, swatting the offer away. "I don't wanna eat your pukey schammiesch, thanksch,"

"...I buys you a twinkies?" Toki shrugged. "Dey amn'ts nutrimishious, but dey lasts forevers." William tuned out the still-present memory of what a twinkie tasted like. God, that delicious cream and spongy cakey shell. But those things were high in sugar and stuff and he was already fat enough as it was, he couldn't. He just couldn't rationalize.

"I'm fine, jeesch."

"...You feelin's okays?"

"The fuck. I'm fine, I juscht schaid."

"You looks tires. Norvous." Toki put a hand on his shoulder. Instinctively, William recoiled. No thanks. "...Ams you olrights?"

"Guh. What do you want from me? I got a good fuck at the Depthsch lascht night and I'm tired."

"What ams de... Dept's?"

"Tokis." Skwisgaar grunted from the corner. "De Dept's of Humanities ams a shitty clubs."

"Woh... How's you gets in?"

"I have connectionsch."

"Hey. I gots a questions." Skwisgaar looked at him. "Why's you gots such a lisps?"

"Huh? My teeth are missching."

"Dens you would, ah... you would makes a 'th' noise, you doesn't."

"None of your buschinessch."

"What's you so secretives abouts? It amn'ts like you does anyt'ins."

"Skwisgaar, leaves 'im alones."

-

10 years ago. William Murderface was 6 years old and living in Georgia. Parents dead, just now starting to attend school. He didn't bother with kindergarten, as he was still learning to read. However, by age 6 he was thrust into the first grade.

"Why's your forehead so flat?"

"What's up with your teeth?"

"Why's your bottom mouth in front'a your top one?"

He was embarrassed. He was frightened. He didn't want to talk or do anything.

"Why can't you read?"

"Why are you so stupid?"

"Why are you so ugly?"

At a young age he was diagnosed with a double-whammy. Dyslexia, and a genetic disorder called cleidocranial dysplasia. It made him lispy and weird-mouthed and big-headed, with a weird curvy spine and eyes that were fa-a-ar apart. His eyes scanned pages of the book, hands trembling. The cra si erd.... Hte arc is der... His fingers shook. His malformed, stubby, ugly fingers. He was the worst combination of ugly and stupid.

As the school years piled on he became more confused. Numbers that made no sense, ideas that didn't load properly in his head. And nobody liked him, and he was tired and afraid. And he was chubby and hunchbacked and self-loathing. Nobody loved him.

"Why are you alive?"

"God, you're so useless."

"Don't pair us with William."

"Look at how fat he is."

"I heard he still wets the bed."

"Gross."

"Disgusting."

It ate him up inside.

A move to Arcadia was a chance to start anew. To recreate his image. To pretend to be someone he wasn't. People would think he was cool and badass and he wouldn't be made fun of anymore. He'd be different. Everything would be different. He'd fuck a girl or two or three, he'd be popular and get invited to everything.

So he'd pretend his illnesses didn't exist.


	14. Pickles' Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan shows up uninvited.

"Hey Pickles."

"...Why'n da fuck're you at my house."

He sure as hell didn't invite Nathan over. He hated having people in his house, because his house sucked. But here Nathan was, clutching sheets of papers and dancing around on his toes, a tiny smile cracked open on his pale face. "Couldn't you have called me over to yer place or someth'n?"

"Mom's playing bridge with the neighbors, said she wants absolute silence." He grunted. "But I had some cool ideas for songs! Can I come in?"

"Hey bro." Oh god, there he was. Pickles must've awoken him from his hungover slumber when he answered the door. That chestnut-haired motherfucker. Pickles hated him, and he was only good for co-paying the stupid fucking rent. His name was Seth, and he was a scrawny pothead with eye bags and a pointy nose, and a light dusting of freckles across his face. He did odd jobs, insisted on moving in with Pickles to make his parents think he was doing something with his life. A fucking piece of garbage, was what he was.

"Who's this guy."

"Dat's my brudder." Pickles lowered his pierced eyebrows, giving Seth a harsh look. "Dood. Git outta here."

"Who's dis guy."

"It's Nate'n. My friend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Sure, whatever. He's my boyfriend. Go away."

Seth shrugged, shuffling off to his bedroom. Pickles rolled his eyes. "Alright, big guy, y'said somethin' about writin' songs?" Nathan was stiff as a board, fingernails dug into the denim of his jeans and staring into space.

"...You're my boyfriend?"

"No, nonono, I just wanted 'im to go away."

"Ah." Pickles wasn't sure if he recognized relief or disappointment on Nathan's face. This kid was pretty weird. Pickles brushed off any further thoughts about it. "...So, uh, I had some ideas, if you, uh... wanna see 'em."

"Yeh, yeh, yeh. Hit me."

Nathan gently smacked Pickles' shoulder. "No, naht like dat, like, gimme the ideas."

"Oh. Oh!" Nathan fished out a few of the sheets. "So I was thinking of like, the sound. And I kind of came up with this song."

"What's it called?"

"Uh, Thunderhorse." He cleared his throat. "The lyrics are pretty minimalist, but, uh, it still sounds good in my brain."

"Minimalist is an understatement, dood."

"Look, you gotta imagine this... growled really deep, like..." His voice dropped as he spat the word from his chest. "'Ride'."

"I mean, I guess nobody will be able to understand what yer sayin' anyhow. You could sing 'bout yer dick and it'd go over fine." Pickles shrugged, handing the papers back. "So like, what kind'a drum progression were you imaginin'?"

"Uh, well, something pretty cool with a double kick-drum..." He scratched his chin. "Something like... like really deep and harsh. Like hoofbeats."

"Alright, alright. Sounds pretty cool."

"...But, uh, I don't actually know how to write drum patterns... So I figured I should come to you. About that."

"Dammit, Nate'n." Pickles lightly elbowed Nathan in the belly, wearing a silly grin on his freckled face. "Ya dumbass."

"I'm only a little dumb."

"I'm just kiddin' with ya! Don't be embarrassed, writin' drum patterns when ya can't play is impossible."

Nathan smiled sheepishly, a reddish tint crossing his face.

-

"What if we wrote a song about, like, mermaid murder?"

"...Mermaider."

"Yeah. Yeah! That's good! Mermaider..." Nathan pressed his eraser to his lips. "Murder, murder... mermaid murder..."

"Maybe you could like... make a sushi pun or someth'n?"

"Yeah, I could try that."

"I think this is a concept we can fuck with fer awhile. Toki's probably gonna be into it, he likes gay shit like mermaids."

"Heh. Yeah." Nathan sunk into Pickles' mattress. "Your bed is fucking tiny."

"No, yer just fuckin' huge, dood."

"You're tiny."

"Ey, shaddup."

"You're an old man with tiny legs."

"I said shaddup! Gahd."

"Okay, okayokayokay. Riddle me this. What's more brutal than paying income taxes."

"...That's a fuckin' ridiculous idea, Nate'n."

"I will make this work, this is gold. This is genius."

"That's so stupid."

"Nobody can understand what I'm saying, anyway."

"'ey, bro!" A knock hit Pickles' bedroom door. "I know you 'n Tonto are fuckin' in dere, but I need ya fer a second!"

"We're naht fuckin'! What'n da hell do ya want from me?!"

"...The N64 ain't workin'."

"I don't care, I'll fix it later!"

"I wanna play fuck'n Ocarina of Time!"

"Uuuugh!" Pickles stood up, opening the door and shuffling away. Nathan stared uncomfortably at Seth through the doorway. The kid was real scrawny, just like his brother, giving Nathan an awkward wave "hello".

"Hey dere, Norman."

"It's, uh, it's Nathan."

"Oh. Uh, y'like my brudder? 's nice seein' him make friends."

"...Uh, yeah."

"Well you--"

"Ya didn't fuck'n plug it in!" Nathan could hear Pickles' angry footsteps as he stormed towards Seth. "It wasn't workin' because it wasn't plugged into the fuck'n TV, ya stupid douchebag!"

"Woah, ey, take it easy bro."

"Can't ya function on yer own?!"

"...Yeh."

"Then prove it by leavin' me alone!" Pickles kicked the door shut before Seth could reply. "I fuck'n hate him. Never pays me any rent or anythin'. He only moved 'ere so mahm would think he gaht his own house 'n shit."

"...He seems pretty happy that you've got friends."

"Yeh, well, he's also a chronic liar."

Pickles cracked open a can of beer, taking a long sip. Nathan wondered about those two. Seth seemed nice enough, sure, but Pickles wasn't the type to baselessly hate anyone. And then it slowly evolved into the question of what the fuck kind of life Pickles lead.

But that'd be a pretty dumb question to ask.


	15. "You must allow me absolute freedom."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The food chain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for more of Magnus being awful

Like a hagfish on a corpse, William Murderface latched onto something rotten. And, like a remora on the belly of a shark, Toki Wartooth latched onto something ugly. Perhaps it was his antisocial tendencies, but Skwisgaar lacked any reason to latch onto anyone. But it was his job to keep Toki out of trouble.

It was like a sort of chain reaction. Magnus was a sleaze. William was drawn to Magnus. Toki was drawn to William. Which meant, of course, the sleaze at the front of the line could eat them both whole. Skwisgaar knew and saw enough of that man to recognize that he was no good. And frankly, if William was going down, it was none of Skwisgaar's business. He wasn't going to play the little brat's babysitter, and really, he only did it for Toki out of obligation.

Of course.

Like he'd actually care about the little booger.

"I wonders what Moidaface ams doin's todays."

"Toki, he ams probably out gettins in troubles."

Maybe he was a little jealous that the ugly little troll had captured Toki's attention. He was, after all, housing the kid, and deserved a bit more recognition for it. Not to mention that there was nothing, NOTHING likable about William. Even if beauty was on the inside, he'd still be uglier than a stack of Garbage Pail Kids cards with burning cow shit on them. 

"If he ams den I gots to helps 'im, rights? He ams my friend."

"No, he amn'ts, he don't likes nobodies."

Of course, regardless of any jealousy, it was just his job to keep Toki out of trouble. If he didn't, his bitch of a mother would crucify him. (Though it was partly her fault, since she was never home.) And since William was a walking trouble magnet, it'd be easier to just keep his roomie away from him. Toki shook his head.

"He ams my bandmates now. If you t'inks he ams in trouble I gots to go helps him."

Skwisgaar regretted insinuating that William was in trouble. He probably should've just said William was doing nothing of interest. Or, perhaps, Toki would go after him no matter what Skwisgaar said. The world was just full of "what if"s. "Where he says he goes? De Dept's of Humidities?"

"You shouldn'ts go deres, it ams a fuckin's dumpsters-fires. Full of alcoholics and moles-sesters."

"Why would Moidaface wants to be deres, den?"

"Who cares? It amn'ts you's business, and it amn'ts mines. If he what's gets kills, it amn'ts our problems."

"He could gets kills?!"

Oh, fuck.

"I mean, I doubts it?"

"We gots to go finds 'im, Skwisgaar."

"No, we don'ts."

"If you amn'ts gon's to helps me, I goes by myselfs."

Well that was even worse. He sure as hell didn't want Toki going into a shitty metal bar to get shanked by some weirdo by himself. "So you takes you's pick, 'cause I's goin's either ways, evens if you don't cares 'bouts him."

"Guh. Fines." Skwisgaar took Toki's hand. "But you gots to stay close to me."

-

"Dumpster-fire" was an accurate description for the Depths of Humanity. (Fitting name.) It stank of sex, pot, liquor, cigarettes and piss. Skwisgaar's "nope" sensors were blaring like 30 ambulances, but Toki had him in a death-grip and wasn't going to let go. It was crowded, and poorly-lit. The fact that Toki picked William out of the crowd immediately tuned the Swede in to just how weirdly intuitive the kid was sometimes.

"Dere he ams." But he didn't have time to think about it, as Toki was slowly dragging Skwisgaar over to a corner of the room. William was minuscule in comparison to his boyfriend, fitting perfectly in his lap with the older man's hand down his pants, fingers clutching his jacket and spaced-out teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. "...Who ams dat old guys?"

"Dat what's ams hims boyfriends, Tokis."

"De fucks?" Toki tried not to attract attention, which was easy amongst the crowd of drunken teenagers. "He ams like, fifties."

"Well, you's Moiderface ams safe, so can we goes now."

"Dat grampa's hand ams in hims pants." Toki's grimace of disgust was innocent. Innocent of all the freaks in the world, innocent of the scum hiding under Arcadia's layer of suburban perfection. Though the same sort of dirt was running rampant in any country, any state, any sleepy little town. "Dis amn'ts okays, he ams a child. He ams too smalls."

"Ja, buts--"

"No buts, we's goin's to go talks to grampas and gives 'im de what's-fors."

Oh god. Oh no. Today was the day Skwisgaar Skwigelf was going to die, at the hands of a 21-year-old drug dealer and his mutant boyfriend. As they stepped over, Skwisgaar swore he could see his whole life flash before his eyes, the two of them now emerging from the mass of coked-up suburban kids, and perhaps Skwisgaar's perception was fucked up when his brain told him that everyone could see the two Scandinavians _didn't belong._

"Hey." They were a bit far. Magnus didn't reply, his tongue trailing up William's neck. Skwisgaar had been in the beds of countless people, but for the first time in awhile, seeing two people getting it on made him feel sick to his stomach. Toki called out louder. "Hey!"

The man looked up, pulling his hand out of William's shorts. His poor, humiliated victim heard the voice too, his legs snapping shut and face turning red, though the flush was dulled by the lack of light.

"Can I help you?" Magnus was smooth-voiced, fingertips pressed together like a mantis, preparing to rip at its prey. 

"Can you _helps_ me?" Toki's brow was wrinkled. "What's you ams doin's wit' Moidaface?"

"Boyfriend stuff. His favorite thing, actually."

"You ams like, sixties years olds! Why's you touchin's hims weiners?!"

"Because we're dating. We make each other feel good, I stick by him and he sticks by me. He needs an older figure in his life, and you know it." He patted William's head, though the younger boy didn't raise his face from his knees. "I'm like his father."

"You don't gets hankjobs from you's fathers!"

"That's why I'm only _like_ one. I'm assuming you don't have a very solid command of the English language."

"He ams a little boys!"

"He's maturing. That means he'd ought to learn to make his own decisions." William nudged back into Magnus' touch, like putty in his hands. "And he's smart enough to know not to bite the hand that feeds him."

"You amn'ts feedin's nobodies. He needs to goes homes."

"Fuck off."

It was a tiny peep from William's lips. "You think home isch any fucking better? E-everyone here likesch me. And everyone isch nische to me... 'n everyone isch gentle."

"Moidaface, you--"

"Tokis." Skwisgaar finally spoke up. Damn did he feel powerless in this situation. "...We shoulds goes homes."

"I amn'ts goin's nowheres, he ams gon's to--"

God, was Skwisgaar tired of the violence in this fucking town.

But Toki had a fist in his face, one belonging to Magnus Hammersmith, of course. He fell back, eye swollen and twitching. "...get horts..."

"Don't get between me and William. He's mine."

"You don't says dat 'bouts someones you loves, you amn'ts suppose't to owns dems!"

"Tokis, let's get out of heres."

He grabbed Toki's sleeve and pulled him out of the Depths before they could see the glint of Magnus' knife in the glow of the greenish lamps. He also didn't get the chance to see the look on William's face.


	16. The Water Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Murderface chapter.

"Stupids fuckin's old mans punches me ins de face..."

"Tokis. Calms downs, it ams a weekend, for sake's fucks." 

"But he hits me and does bads to Moidaface!"

"Calms downs, I says. You's eye ams lookin's better-ers."

"Guh." Toki turned to a glass of chocolate milk, sipping it with a sour expression on his face. "I hopes dat man falls ins de toilets an' drowns on his owns em-scre-ments." His feet kicked at a coil in the carpet, lips tightly pursed into a small but harsh pout.

Knock, knock! Why did half of Skwisgaar's problems have to start with a knock on the door?

"I gets it." He backed up from his delicious (subjectively) breakfast smörgås to answer the door. And on the other side he didn't see the last person he wanted to see, but he saw the second-to-last person. Hunched over holding a bath towel and a chocolate bar, was William Murderface, eyes downcast and hair stuck to his scalp from the rare Florida rain. "...What's you wants. Yuh ins-breds."

"...I need your shower."

"...Eh?"

There was a distant patter of footsteps as Toki pushed past Skwisgaar, tightly hugging William and causing an expression of confusion to cross his face. 

"L... leggo! You fuckin' homo!" It was only when William (gently) bit Toki's shoulder that he backed off.

"I's so glads you's doin's alright! Oh, you looks... ams you's nose o-kays?"

"Uh, yeah... probably."

"It looks crookeds."

"That'sch what they all schay. I need your bathroom."

"What's fors?"

"Water bill ain't been paid. And I puked on myschelf." He pulled back his leather jacket, revealing-- oh god. Ew. Skwisgaar averted his gaze instinctively. "...But I can't take a shower. Ain't got no water scho ain't got no shower. Lemme in."

"You t'inks you ams gon's to cleans pukes in my showers?" Skwisgaar began shoving him out the door. However, Toki slapped his arm, looking at him disapprovingly.

"Skwisgaar! We gots to be hospickables! He ams hurts and dirties and he means lots to us boths." Toki grabbed William's hand, pulling him inside and shuffling towards their bathroom. "It ams okays, I shows you where it ams."

-

"Woah! You got the whole fuckin' package right here."

"What's you means?"

"What isch thisch, a fuckin' hotel? You have- you have shampoo AND conditioner?!" William appeared to be hyperventilating as he went through everything in Skwisgaar's bathroom. "You have two barsch of schoap-- two schinksch-- hand lotion?! Fucking hand lotion?!"

"...Ja?"

"And isch a shower-bathtub combo, thisch isch fuckin' deluxsche, thisch isch amazching."

"Don't makes too much of a mess."

"Fuck outta here. Isch thisch a back schcratcher?"

"Dat ams a toilet scrubs!"

"Oh. Oh! Oh shit, ew, fuck, why didn't you tell me that earlier?! I wasch about to usche it to schcrape my back..."

"...You gots to get you's clothes off before you gets in de bathtubs."

Immediately, William stopped, turning and staring at him with an incredibly confused expression. "You can't go in fullies-clothes."

"G...get outta here! You gonna watch me schtrip? You weirdo!"

"Well I gots to gets you's shirts so I can puts it in de wash."

"Uuugh..." William grumbled, squirming out of his gross, sticky t-shirt. His body was scrawny, with a slight paunch along his midsection, hanging out just over his shorts. He sighed, staring down at himself for a moment. "God."

"You's olrights?"

"Yeah, juscht take it."

He handed the slimy, rain-soaked shirt over to Toki, who dutifully carried it to the washing machine.

"I needs you's shorts as wells, dey ams rains-wets."

"Y-you weirdo!"

"Please?"

"...F-fine! Dammit!" He threw his shorts into Toki's arms, not even wearing underpants beneath them. "Now how'sch thisch thing work?"

"You turns de dial dat ams says 'H' or 'C' for how colds or hots you's wants it."

"...Right."

He eyed up the bathtub for a moment, futzing with the dials before plunking himself into the tub, letting out an involuntary squeal as he landed on his tailbone. Toki immediately rushed in, pulling back the curtains.

"You ams okays?... You's supposed to flicks dis to close de drains."

"I'm fine! God! Quit schtarin' at my dick!"

"I amn'ts!"

"How do I open thisch?!" 

"Dat ams conditioners, you puts dat on seconds." Toki sighed, kneeling beside the tub. "Here, lets me does it. I-- you's hair ams... so dirties!" He pulled at his hair, seeing it was matted together into a singular, curly pile. Toki covered one hand in shampoo, trying not to get it in William's eyes, as he proceeded to scrub into the tangled hair. "How's 'dis happens, you's hairs ams all tangles togedders in de lumps!"

"I don't wash that much, jeesch! Who caresch?"

"It ams bads for yous."

"Isch not-- ow! Ow, yer pullin'!"

"Just co-operates wit' me! Comes ons, I's tryin's to be gentles!"

"My hair hurtsch! Aaaaagh!"

"Just... Oh, it ams startin's to works! Oh, it... it ams so shinies! Lemme conkitions its..." Toki poured some conditioner into one hand, working it into the frizzy mop of William's hair. Slowly but surely it began to smooth out. It was very smooth. Incredibly smooth. Toki's fingers were slowly falling through it. "It ams so softs... Lower you's heads into de waters." 

"Guh."

-

"Holy fucks."

"Holy shits."

"Holy fuckin's shits."

Neither of them could believe it. William's hair had smoothed out into a fluffy, short bob. No longer matted together in clumps and now smooth after several attempts at washing and re-washing it. Skwisgaar gave it a nervous touch, feeling it soft beneath his palm, like a chinchilla. "He ams so cuuuuutes! Moidaface!"

"To-- Agh! Schtop huggin' me, isch gay! Aaaaagh!"

"You're too cutes, I can't helps its."

"Schtoppit!"

"Okays. Okays." Toki backed away, giggling to himself. "You gots to waits for you's clothes to be cleans, so... you wants anythin's?"

"Toki, dis ams my house."

"Well I ams you's guest and I says I wants Moidaface to stay. We gots mackerel!"

"...Like, the fish?"

"Ja! Come ons. We's gon's to haves a good Saturdays."

"But I gotta--"

"It ams fines. De couch ams opens."


	17. Grotesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willy is stuck staying late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to just be a cute thing of the OT3 watching Story of Ricky but I'm in too deep
> 
> so the ending has some really fucked-up self-hating stuff on Willy's end with a lot of references to suicide and weight problems that ends with him forcing himself to vomit in Skwisgaar's toilet

"Guysch, I really need to go--"

"No you don'ts." William scowled in Toki's direction. Considering what went down recently, he couldn't help but assume this was all intentional. "We gots all kinds a' stuffs to do. You likes movies? We gots movies. We gots, uh... 'De Aristocats'... 'De Hunkchback of Notre Dome'... Uhh..."

"I don't like cartoonsch."

God, he hated lying about stuff. Especially cartoons. 

"Ah." Skwisgaar grinned. "See, he may acts like an infants but he gots mat-chure tastes."

"Damn schtraight-- I don't act like an infant!"

"Right. We gots 'Nekromantiks', we gots de original 'Ring' movies, dems Guinea Pig films..." He began filing through a DVD shelf. "'Funny Games' ams a good ones. 'Audition's, anudder one from Japans. 'Men Behind de Suns', dat ams from China. De Whispering Corridors movies... 'Eraserheads'..."

"No thanksch."

"You ams grinnings at me."

"Wuh--" Fuck. Shit. His goddamn stupid fucking love for horror films. He shrunk back. "No I ain't!"

"...We gots 'Cure'. And 'Suspirias'."

"Schuschpiria." William blinked. 

"Oh, dere's one. 'Story of de Ricky'."

"That." William muttered. "...that one."

"Oh man, dis one amn'ts really horrors or nuttin's, but it gots guts 'n gores."

"I can't schtay though--"

Toki latched onto William like a koala. A stupid, stupid, Norwegian koala. And yet, feeling a warm set of arms around him, he relaxed, body wedging into the cushions. "...Mmh, fine. Can't I juscht call 'n schay I'll be late?"

"It'll be fines."

He had no retort. He was too comfortable.

"Well dens." Skwisgaar pulled the DVD from his vast, perfectly-alphabetized collection. "I gets us some food and dens we watches?"

William nodded. What else could he do, right?

-

Halfway through the movie and already William felt ill. Half because some guy just got the bottom of his face ripped off, and half because he'd eaten way too much whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Skwisgaar was in a similar situation. Toki had barely even touched the snacks. God, he was weird. Instead his face was pressed into his palms as his big, blue eyes scanned the TV screen in awe and amazement. A little sniffle came from his direction.

"Dude, are you cryin'?"

"Dat what's ams de boy he loves." Toki whined, wiping his face. "He gives him he flute and now he ams dead. Ricky will be heartbrokens."

"That'sch scho gay." William took a sip of weird, Swedish orange soda, burying the initial feelings of nausea with even more intense feelings of nausea.

"Dey gots a corrections- I means a connections!" Toki sounded all too passionate about what was intended to be a silly martial arts film. William didn't have the energy to reciprocate it. "Dey gots a connections like... like yous 'n mes 'n Skwisgaar!"

Both Skwisgaar and William cocked a brow.

"Schorry. But I'm not gay. I don't 'connect' with people or do any foofy shit like that."

"I amn'ts goin's to connects wit' him, I don't care how nice hims hair ams." Skwisgaar looked disgusted at the sight of William, which frankly, William was used to. Back in Georgia he'd get more than just disgust. Hatred, usually. Anger. "Besides, dey amn'ts in loves. Ricky gots a gorlfriends."

"Screws you alls offs." Toki grumbled.

"Thisch ain't a gay movie, isch a man'sch movie. Gay guysch like purschesch and schtuff."

"Moidaface..." Toki gave him a sad look. 

"What? Ain't that how it worksch?"

Toki went silent. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. William poured more whipped cream into his mouth.

-

The film ended. Toki once again burst into tears. William was sagging deep into the couch cushions, trying to hide himself. He'd lost track of the movie towards the ending. His stomach felt tight. His SKIN felt tight. Toki held onto him. Like they were dating. But he wasn't gay. But he had a boyfriend. He should've just left, he should've just left so he wouldn't have binged and looked like a fucking homo all afternoon.

His ringtone went off, for the third time that day. It was Magnus. Again.

"Don't picks it up." Toki shakily cleared his eyes. "Can't you see he ams tryin's to horts you?"

Blink blink.

Trying to hurt him? It'd be plausible. Who wouldn't be? Even people who called themselves William's friends when he was younger had still gotten violent with him. His disgusting, misshapen flesh-pile of a body was trembling. Why wouldn't Toki let him pick up his phone? The worry was setting in, the suspicion. Toki wanted to tear them apart, didn't he? That was right. If he didn't pick up the phone, Magnus would think he didn't care. And if he was fat, Magnus would think he was ugly. And if he was gay, Magnus would think he was dirty. And if he was interested in dumb stupid movies, Magnus would think he was an idiot. Because Magnus already knew, and already said, that he was an unloveable, ugly slut, and it was true. A gross, masochistic, drug-addicted whore. 

Was Toki trying to expose him?

What the fuck did these two sick bastards want?

They were probably laughing. Because he had matted hair and his grandparents didn't pay the water bill. Because he ate too much, and burped too loudly, and whined at a bad pitch when he adjusted his position. In Scandinavia, everyone was perfect. And they all had soft skin and beautiful hair and they weren't disgusting pigs like he was. And nobody but Magnus would love him, so if Magnus left then he'd be alone.

Toki laughed. William's head was swimming and Toki's face was contorting into a freakish smile. He didn't sound like himself at all when he spoke. "God, look at this dumbshit. Why don't you just kill yourself already, fatass?"

Skwisgaar was all wrong, too. But he was still perfect.

"Look at him. He's all curled up on the floor like a baby pig."

"I heard he still pisses his pants."

"Haha, gross."

The world became muddy. The music on the menu screen of the movie banged and clattered in his head. His heart was pounding and he felt sick. He could hear it. It was all wrong.

"I wish you'd never been born."

"Gross."

"Nobody likes you."

"Even someone as stupid as you could do that."

"Why'd he end up so ugly?"

"It's your fault he looks like this."

"William."

"William."

"William."

"Williams?" Toki patted his cheek. "You ams olrights? You beens starin's into space for--"

"I need to use the bathroom."

Toki couldn't ask questions before he was gone.

'Spectacles, testicles, wallet, watch'. That was how William remembered which way to go when crossing himself. Lord, thank you for this meal. His hands were shaking and he should've just gone home, and now he had to make himself sick to fix it. The taste of acid cream and chocolate filled his mouth as the first splatter of bile punctured the water. Tears rolling down his face, he went for another, even if it hurt, because he didn't bring any laxatives or anything, he just wanted a bath.

He kicked the door shut and locked it. His whole body was wracked with spasms, and he felt weak and shaky, a quaking hand pulling the handle on the toilet to hide the evidence. If Magnus was hurting him it was because he wasn't good enough. That was right. Because he was always right.

His phone was still in his pocket. With trembling hands he dialed Magnus' number, only to be taken to voicemail.

"Isch William." He spoke to the absolute nothing on the other line. "I'm- I'm schorry." The words were barely even making sense. "I'm scho schorry, pleasch, d-don't be mad at me. I didn't, I didn't mean it, I'm schorry..." A few more huffing sobs, as he debated saying more. His thumb tapped the "end call" button.

There were knocks on the bathroom door, and he ignored them. He still felt sick with himself.


	18. Let him down softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Guh."
> 
> "Guh."
> 
> "Geh."

"How are we supposed to have the first official band club meeting without our bassist."

"Of course he cuts schools, he was actin's too damn weirds on de weekends." Skwisgaar grumbled, scrabbling against his guitar. "Dems flus usually goes away after a days." 

"I hopes he ams okay. He seems really strung-out when he came overs."

"Who de fucks looks dat solemns when watchin's Story a' Rickies."

"...Such a beautiful love stories... makes my heart horts..." Toki sniffled, wiping one eye a little. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes so far back, it was like they were disappearing into his head. Charles grumbled, but for once, Pickles was prepared.

"'s okay, guys. Nate'n and I spent a lahtta time thinkin' over th' week, an' I think we gaht a nice book a' songs right 'ere."

"Yeah, we wrote them at Pickles' house." Nathan grinned, pulling out a stack of looseleaf sheets. His face lit up like a lantern, and he flicked through them. "This cool one, 'Go Into the Water', it's... it's pretty haunting, huh. 'Murmaider', mermaid murder. It's a good pun. Pretty funny, right? Or, uh... 'Hatredcopter'! It's- it's a helicopter of hate!"

Edgar snatched the sheets.

"I see. Dynamic."

"We're not done yet, but, uh..."

"I can't wait to edit your work."

"Edit? Is he our audio editor?"

"Yes, he's very experienced." Charles really had his shit figured out, huh. "He's amazing with sound."

"Hey, what ain't good about 'im." Pickles grinned. "Gimme any more merits an' I might haf'ta marry th' little bastard."

"Don't marry Edgar Jomfru." Nathan mumbled. "...uh, yeah."

"Dood, I'm kiddin'."

"...Right, right, just makin' sure." He blinked. Edgar was talented, sure, but not husband material. "Anyway, me and Pickles co-wrote music sheets--"

"I did most of it."

"We co-wrote music sheets for you guys. So you can look at them."

"Yeh, 'n then, yanno, when we meet up again, we can play 'n shit." Pickles huffed. "Anyone wanna bring dis to Willy's house?"

"I does it--"

"Tokis." Skwisgaar rose a brow. "Come ons nows. He amn'ts wort' hangin's-outs wit'."

"It's fine." Pickles shrugged. "I gaht it, I gaht it. I can take it to 'im." Hey, it couldn't possibly be worse than dealing with Seth all day.


	19. Barely There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special delivery!

"Whaddaya mean he ain't home?"

"For one thing, I'd rather saw my breasts off than let William hang around with a bull-dyke like you."

"Classy."

"But also, he's not here."

"Where'n th' fuck'd he go?"

"Don't know, don't care, get out of my house."

The door slammed shut. Pickles almost considered crawling up through the window to smash Stella's face in, but he kept it to himself. Where the fuck could the little bastard possibly be? Toki's house? With his, uh, boyfriend? With Dick? Jesus. 

Stop two, the residence of Skwisgaar and Toki.

"Amn'ts seens him all days."

Weird. "Why's you asks? Amn'ts he at homes?"

"Guess naht."

"I hopes he ams okays."

The moment he reached Charles' house was when the situation became a bit more confusing. He knocked on the big door of his mansion, hearing the barking of King Arthur immediately from the inside as Charles answered the door.

"Ah, hello?"

"Hi. Uh, I'm supposed to bring dese lyric sheets to Willy and I was wonderin' if he'd shown up at yer house."

Charles blinked.

"I'd suggest checking the Depths of Humanity." Charles pointed off, in its general direction. "That's where he tends to be, anyhow."

"I thought that place closed down."

"People have been congregating there again. It's a bit of a hotspot for debauchery."

"...And how'n the fuck did an actual child get in 'dere?"

"It's not legally recognized as a bar, I suppose. It's an abandoned building, no regulations on that."

"Jesus. Alright den, I'll go check."

"Just keep going that way, you'll find it eventually."

That was how he ended up at the Depths of Humanity, the neon sign weakly flickering beneath Arcadia's glorious orange sunset, a bit of a bustle inside and a big heavy door up front. He grunted, heaving the door open. The place was packed with people around his age, dancing, drinking, shooting up, going down. Some of these people were probably too young to be touching booze, but Pickles had no reason to speak about it -- after all, he had his first drink when he was six.

"Hey, lady!" He felt a nervous hand on his puffy red hair, squinting his eyes. "Wanna c'mere, have a drink?"

"No thanks, I'm a guy, thank you." Perhaps the hair growth formula he'd bought wasn't doing much for his facial hair situation after all. Seth said it was looking good, but hey, that's what he got for trusting Seth. "You seen my Willy?"

"...What?"

"Willy. I can't find 'im."

"Are you coming onto me?"

"William Murderface."

"Ohhhh." The group of guys paused. "Usually he's with Magnus." They pointed across the room at Magnus. Oh, yeah. He was... Willy's boyfriend. Pickles swallowed and nodded, shuffling over to the man, who was sitting in a cloud of smoke with a scantily-clad girl about Pickles' age, wearing braces and a pinkish top.

"...Magnus? Ain't you got a boyfriend?"

"You can call it that if you want." Magnus rolled his eyes. "But it's not like Lauren and I have any sort of romantic commitment just because we fucked a few times." At least she looked mature enough to be getting into this kind of shit. Pickles grunted.

"Where's Murderface?"

"...Ah. William." Magnus thought for a moment. "I sent him off to make a delivery for me."

"Delivery? Dood, the fuck?"

"I sell drugs, dumbshit."

"Wait, so lemme- lemme get dis straight." Pickles inhaled. "Yer like, dating... 'dating'..." He put up airquotes. "...a sophomore. An' yer like, 21. An' he's delivering drugs to people like some kind'a fuckin' evil paperboy."

"I can't help but feel like 'dating' is a bit of a strong descriptor for what we have, but yes."

"You are fuckin' awful."

"Nothing awful about it. I make sure he doesn't go anywhere dangerous, and he's nearing adulthood."

"Right... right."

"I can give you the address he went to."

Pickles nodded, and Magnus handed him a slip of paper. This was becoming a mission all on its own.

-

Perhaps the most jarring thing was pressing a doorbell and hearing the honking of a horn. A strange man answered the door, only in his underpants, but wearing incredibly detailed clown makeup. (However, it did little to hide all the powder on his face.)

"...Hi, uh--"

"Cocaine!"

The sudden scream almost sent Pickles careening off his feet. "What'chu want, weird fluffy glam rock dude?"

"Yeh, uh, I was jus' wonderin' if a William Murderface came through here?"

"Uhhh..." The man turned for a moment. "Hey kid! Is your name William?!" Then a distant response. "...Yep, he says he's in here."

"C'n I come in fer a second."

"Sure! Hey everyone, this weird fluffy glam rock dude is c-c-comin' in to party! Woo!" The guy practically leaped away from the door, allowing Pickles to enter. Even though it was just barely creeping into the twilight hours, there was loud music and cheap disco lights all over the place. The only thing more confusing was all the clown whores. "Clown whores" was not a phrase Pickles ever even thought he'd need to use.

Yet, here he was.

It was a pretty spacious, albeit messy house. The kitchen was visible from the front door, and Pickles shuffled in there, since it was a bit less loud and crowded. He found William wasn't in there. Just a baggie of cocaine, an open fridge, and a sink that was still running.

"...where'n the fuck is he..."

A few people began making their way into the kitchen area. A few girls, some Pickles kinda recognized and... hey, there he was! "Hey, Murderface!"

"Turn the muschic up, I ain't anywhere near bein' tired!"

"Are- are you ignorin' me?"

"Wuh? Oh, hi. I might've been a little bit."

Dear god. Pickles was smart and fucked-up enough to know that Willy was hopped up on ecstasy and, more concerningly, surrounded by people twice his age. That clown guy had to be at least in his thirties. "You're here? Dr. Rockscho schaid if I came in within the hour he'd gimme a preschent!"

"Willy. Willy. Willy. You let this guy give you drugs."

"Ain't my firscht time."

"Holy shit." Man, this was one fucked-up kid. "Okay. We're going home right now, party's over."

"Wuh?"

"And- and put the tablets down, I can see 'em in yer hand!"

William whined almost cartoonishly, dropping a fistful of the colorful pulls on the ground. 

"Dammit, I didn't even getta kissch any cute boysch yet."

"Y'ave a boyfriend."

"Well, yeah, but... he ain't gonna find out, right?" He shuddered, joints twitching together to the tune of "Livin' la Vida Loca". Anyone who was nearby looked at him like he was an adorable circus animal, and he acted like he had no reason to give a shit. "Beschidesch, my family all hatesch me anyway. And I'm havin' fun!"

"We're goin' somewhere dat ain't here. Fair?"

"But your brother isch here."

"He-- are you fuckin' serious?"

"Yeah, he kicked my assch at beer pong."

"Seth! Goddamnit!"

"He'sch aschleep on the table."

"Fuck'n-- he looks dead, Willy!"

"He ain't."

Pickles rolled his eyes, grabbing his limp brother off of the table. Jesus, this was a fucking trip. Seth grumbled, hanging over Pickles' shoulder like the complete deadweight he was. With his other hand, he grabbed William's sleeve, as the young boy hastily stuffed pills into his pockets. 

"We're leavin'. Now."

"See ya later, fluffy glam rock dude!" Oh god. He might've said that too loud if the weird clown guy was back. "Here, here's my moooobiiiile."

"...Thanks."

"Thanksch Dr. Rockscho! Byyyyeeee!" 

"No, don't hug him. We're out."

"Nnngh."

"...Christ."

What had he gotten himself into.


	20. Brotherly Love (Plus One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A depressed teen coming down from an ecstasy high, a drunken younger brother, and the only adult in the room.

"I'm confiscatin' this."

"But I need it! On the come-down I get depressched, 'n I'm already schtartin' to feel it, scho--!"

"It'll be fine."

"Schelfish dickbag, you juscht wanna take it for yourschelf!"

"'s fer yer own good."

William groaned, kicking Pickles' couch. "Y'gotta stay here until I'm totally sure ya won't fuck'n die."

"I hate you! Schtupid drummer!" William stamped on his foot, which hurt less than he seemed to have liked, before storming off and hiding in the bathroom. Pickles sighed, turning back to his brother, who was a sloppy lump on the couch. Shoving the little baggie of pills into a drawer, he sat Seth in an upright position.

"If you choke on yer own puke, mahm will kill me."

"'s fine."

"Seth. Seth." The younger brother flopped onto Pickles' shoulder, saliva dribbling from his half-open mouth. "How much did ya drink?"

"Enough."

"How much, Seth?!"

"...I love you."

"Jesus Christ, bro."

"The best brother. This's my brother, Pickles, th' best brother." He groaned, hanging his head. "I pissed myself today."

"You-- that's fuckin' gross, dood, do you just tell everyone that?!"

"Most people."

"I'm naht gonna bathe you, I hope y'know dat."

"We did it when we was five."

"Yeh, we were five, dumbass. God."

"...I can't stand."

"Why naht?"

"My feet won't do the thing that standing is."

"Jest stay here, den."

"...Dr. Rockso writes some gooooood songs."

"Yeh, I bet."

"Why haschn't anyone come lookin' for me?!" The bathroom door didn't open, but Pickles could hear William's voice.

"I'm kinda busy wit' my fuckin' intoxicated, half-dead brudder over 'ere!"

"I'll kill myschelf, then! Would that make you get up?! Me bein' DEAD?!"

"Murderface, please, make dis easy fer me."

"I'm gonna drink all your hand schoap and fucking die! And I wanna schee the look on your schtupid gay fasche when yer at my funeral!"

"It's not gonna do anythin'."

"Aaaaah- guh- ptheh- fuck, 'sch dischguschtin'!"

"Come outta dere."

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and William shuffled out in silence, a thumb childishly jammed into his mouth. "Dere. Siddown. Git nice'n comfortable. Y'want anythin'? Water? Orange juice?... I think 's all we got, but yeh."

"...Are you tryin' to fuck me?"

"Wait, what?! No! Yer a child!"

"I ain't. And nobody'sch nische to me. You want money? 'm broke asch shit."

"Murderface." Pickles grunted, feeling Seth drool seeping into the shoulder of his longsleeve shirt. "You shouldn't be fuckin' adults, okay, let's just get dat outta th' way."

"Shut the fuck up! I'm mature enough to make my own damn deschischionsch, and I'm goddamn, fuckin'- I'm schick 'n tired a' people thinkin' I can't!"

"I'm naht sayin' you can't, but holy shit, can't you see yer bein' used?"

"No! I am not!"

"He's fuckin' with you! He doesn't give a shit about you, dood!"

"Schtop it! Shut up! Schtupid gay fuck!" He pulled his leather jacket off, revealing all the scars decorating his pale, lanky arms. The jacket hung over his head as he pulled a decrepit GameBoy Color from his pocket. Seth grunted, snorting a little bit, and Pickles rubbed the back of his head. "...I hate all of you."

"Yeh, yeh..."

"Bro, 'm tired, 'm goin' to bed."

"Yeh, 's good."

"...Nmmhh." Seth flopped over, eyes falling shut. 

"Dumb fuck'n..." Pickles grumbled. William side-eyed him, pouting with his marked arms crossed. His brows furrowed, pockmarks becoming even more apparent on his face. As weird as it was, Pickles had lived a life surrounded by people with perfect skin. "...Alright, yer stayin' over here."

"Can't." 

"I'm forcin' you to."

"You're not my mom."

"Look, you--"

"My boyfriend wantsch to schee me." William almost smirked, at the idea that he was loved, that he was appreciated. "...An' gramma will kill me. You want it to be your fault I got my assch beat? Huh? You want that?"

"Well I also don't want you to go home and kill yourself."

"You wouldn't give a fuck."

Regardless, he stayed overnight, and they said nothing to one another, aside from William asking if he could put on "Cannibal Holocaust".


	21. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar's never experienced a feeling like this before.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf had been around the block once or twice. Okay, more than that. Considering his age, he was a super-skilled Lothario who had seen more women naked than he'd seen fully-clothed, quite frankly. Some older, some younger. All races, heights, weights, walks of life. However, he'd never experienced anything quite like this. He'd tied girls down, bit them, humped their naked chests. He'd dressed in drag, in suits, in nothing at all. But nothing, nothing was like this.

It wasn't an erection, it wasn't a twinge of pleasure. It was a twinge, but not in his loins. Only in his chest. His _chest?_ Did he have heartburn? A drop in his belly, a melty, goopy feeling in his skull. What the fuck?

"Skwisgaar, you's feelin's okay?"

He looked up, seeing Toki's hand still grasping William's. "You needs to sees de norse?"

"Ah, uh." He swallowed. "Nej, nej, I's just needs to sits down."

"Olrights. Stays safes." Toki's attention turned away. His palms tight around William's wrinkled, freakish hands. "You's hands ams so smalls. Likes little bird feets."

"They're normal schizche!" William turned his head away. (Thankless brat.) "Jeesch!" Toki reached over, pinching his pockmark-ridden cheeks. And for some reason, a reason he refused to identify, he felt some kind of anger in him. Something hot. Something burning.

"You's likes a li'l grumpy puppies!"

"Mores likes de slugs." A silence washed over as Skwisgaar gave his input. Almost involuntarily.

"Skwisgaar! What ams de matters wit' yous?"

"Just speaksin's de truths."

Toki angrily drew William in for a hug, staring almost knowingly at Skwisgaar, with this expression that said he was trying to piss him off. William's gross, dry cheek pressed into Toki's rosy face as they stood together, William looking out-of-place.

"Apolgosacks right nows!"

"...So sorries." Skwisgaar rolled his eyes.

"Don't cries, Moidaface. It ams okays."

"I ain't cryin'."

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. Little fucker. Ugly little fucker! He swore under his breath as Toki kept talking to him.

"I's sorries about you's eye."

Only then did Skwisgaar bother to notice that Willy had a black eye. "Pickle says you shouldn't goes ups de stairs when you's high and drunks." Toki brushed his hair back, and for a moment there was an expression of wild shock on William's face, which then changed to freakish contentment as he nudged his head into Toki's palm. "Looks at you's! You's so cuddlies." For some reason it pissed him off, it was awful. He wanted to wring that urchin's neck.

-

"I t'inks I gots de smush."

Skwisgaar quirked a brow.

"Smush?"

"Ja, de, uh..." Toki fumbled, waving his arms around. "De squish? De crush? De--"

"Oh, you gots a crush."

"Ja! I gots de crush."

"Who ams it?" Skwisgaar grinned, plucking a few strings. Quick and strong. Beautiful. He'd been trying to remember his own riffs since he joined a band, but it never worked. He never wrote them down, after all.

"You's goin's to laughs!"

"No, I amn'ts goin's to."

"Okays. Okays." He took a deep breath. "Nobody else ams heres, right?"

"Just mes 'n you's."

"Olrights." Another deep breaths. "...Moidaface."

There was a loud, freakish twaaaaang as Skwisgaar pulled a sour note, his hands slipping. He felt that twinge again. More like a pull. Ripping at his arteries. "He just- he ams so cutes, and I loves 'im! He's gots de cutest face, and I just- I wish I knows how to makes him less sads all de times. It'd makes Toki's lifes." The words fell on deaf ears. "I wants to be goods to him." What the fuck. "I wants to treats 'im kindlies." What the fuck?!

"...Ah."

"Please bes nice to 'ims."

"Just because you likes 'im don't makes us friends."

"Pleeeeaaase!"

"Amn'ts he a littles... uhh... below you's standards?"

"My standards?" Toki shrugged. "I t'inks he ams porfects, and I loves 'im. I hopes we can be togedders."

"...Bluh." His guitar was out-of-tune. "I just says, I t'inks you cans does betters."

"Betters? Like whats? Yous?"

"No."

Maybe that was a possibility. The twinge became harsher. Tighter. Shit, was this what it meant? (Part of him knew the whole time.) Was he into Toki? Was he in love with this little shit? He coughed it out. No, no, no. Not possible.

"Wells, dens if you amnt's gots ideas."

"Good lucks wit' dats."

He crossed his fingers, he'd never wish him luck.


	22. Doctor, Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick shows off his prowess when it comes to arguing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I spell Offdensen wrong all the time

Anemia. It was known to cause nosebleeds and lightheadedness. Dick Knubbler took shitloads of iron pills along with his daily doses of cocaine. But due to a variety of issues, he had a permanent excuse from gym class. He knew that Willy hated it, and he hated going there alone even more, but the medical notes couldn't be un-sent. Prior to the death of his brother, Edgar Jomfru would normally keep him company during these classes, however... now he'd just stay outside.

It was fucking boring.

He flicked through his notebook, which had more doodles than notes. To pass the time, his spindly hand scratched a shoddy UFO into the lined paper. It was a slight shock when the door opened -- after all, this school was so full of meatheads, they wouldn't back out of gym even if they were concussed. 

"Ah... I think my nose is broken."

"Great." The doctor's flat tone was the same as usual. "Take an ice pack and sit down, I'll call home."

"Oh, uh, there's not really any need for that."

"Your nose is broken, Charles."

"Just hand me some first-aid tools and I'll take care of it myself."

At that point, Dick tuned out the conversation. It was almost obnoxious how good Charles was at everything. Rather than indulging the little narcissist's fantasies of grandeur, he'd be better off just ignoring them. Regardless, soon he found Offdensen sitting beside him with a roll of bandages. There was a little pop. Not even a sound from Offdensen's lips.

"Hey, Charlie Foster."

"I told you not to call me that, Dick."

"What happened to your face?"

"Oh, uh." He shrugged. "It involved William and a dodgeball."

"He's awful at sports."

"Yes, but he kicked it."

A scoff came from Dick. God, that Willy was something else. "I understand you're friends with him, correct?"

"Oh, yeah. We go waaaay back. He was like... 6 or 7 when we met." He grinned. "Transferred into this school two years ago after a suicide attempt, and he was the only person who visited me while I was outta commission!"

"That's quite a lot to tell me all at once."

"Not really. It's all just par for the course. And apparently I was his only friend too, and he's been going around in this school district for longer than most people live!"

"...Actually, I wanted to ask you about him."

Dick blinked as much as he could with his fake eyes.

"Wha?"

"Do you know anything about his boyfriend? Ah... Magnus?"

"Trash. I'm pretty sure at least fifty percent of his issues are that guy's fault. If I had my way, he'd get the guillotine."

"You seem very passionate about this."

"He's an _adult_ and he's been having sex with and beating the shit out of my best friend, what the fuck do you expect? Passiveness?" He peeked around for a moment, checking if the nurse was in the room before lighting a cigarette. (The smoke detectors were decrepit enough to not notice.) "Sorry everyone can't be as uselessly indifferent as you are."

"I am not uselessly indifferent. I just don't fall weak to my emotions."

"Yeah, bury me with that edgy bullshit." He spat smoke into the room. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm not quite sure what to do about him."

"Who? Willy?" Dick shrugged his shoulders. "If you call him fat he'll probably never forgive you or speak to you, if that's what you're asking me."

"No, I mean Magnus. I want Magnus out of the picture."

"If I knew how to do that, I would've done it already." Another puff. "...Fucking hell."

"What do you know about--"

"Stop asking me questions about him. You don't even know him. Why should it be your business when you hardly show signs of caring about anything?!"

"Because I'm his manager."

"What, because you run the school's band club, it means you have his best interests in mind? Gimme a break." If Dick could show anger in quite the same way as others, he would. "I thought my cocaine dealer gave a shit about me, turns out he just wanted my money. Same shit, different day. If it even matters to you, then fucking talk to him, jackass."

Offdensen paused, slightly adjusting the bandage on his nosebridge. 

"I want to help him." His voice sounded just a little nasally by then. "I came to you because I know he's important to you."

"...What, you give a shit?"

"I suppose you could put it that way."

"This isn't some cartoon shit, you know."

"I'm aware."

"It's not like we swoop in and save the princess and live happily ever after and shit."

"Mm-hm."

"...What is up with you?"

"I'm human."

It just didn't bode, somehow. He couldn't make sense of Charles Offdensen giving enough of a shit about anyone to pry into their lives. "This is my band, and these are my boys, after all. And this man," he clenched his fists, the words suddenly filled with venom, "is getting in the way of allowing us to go forward."

"...I can help you out."

Dick was nearly petrified. Offdensen had feelings, and they were scary.

"Thank you. Could you give me your phone number?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."


End file.
